There Are Arms to Hold You
by La Vik
Summary: (ERIKxOFC)By no coincidence, the niece of the Vicomte de Chagny finds herself in the Opera Populaire, sent to appease the Phantom's lingering desire for Christine. But when she does so far too well, to what lengths will Raoul go to retrieve her?
1. He Never Leaves

**DISCLAIMER: **_I like keeping these short and sweet. I only own my original characters, and a few original songs, which will be notated as they appear in the chapters. Otherwise, all content belongs to its respective owners._

_I really am terrible at first chapters, so if the first few aren't to your liking, please stick with it a little longer!_

_xoxo_

* * *

"Raoul, what is it?" Christine asked as her husband read a letter that had just arrived by post. She hadn't seen such a disturbed expression on his face since three yearsago, since what she called their 'grand escape' from the Opera Populaire. "Darling, what's wrong?" 

"My brother Dimitri is dead," he replied somberly. "He was killed by burglars in his home." He glanced once again at the letter and shook his head. "His daughter has no place else to go,"

"Then why are we hesitating?" Christine asked warmly. "We'll have her here."

"She _is _here," Raoul said, looking outside at the mail carrier's carriage. "She refuses to come out of the carriage."

"Perhaps you should speak to her," Christine said, "It might help, speaking to family. She just lost her parents,"

Raoul nodded and walked warily out to the carriage, where he could see through the window, a young girl sitting with her arms crossed inside.

"I can hear you coming," she said quietly. "And I'm not going with you."

"Then where do you propose that you're going to stay?" he asked, cocking his head to one side patronizingly.

"I'm old enough to stay in my father's old home," she snapped. "It's mine anyway, isn't it?"

"Well, yes," Raoul said unsurely, 'But you're only seventeen. That's not at all old enough to live on your own."

"It shouldn't be old enough to be an orphan, either,' she said in a slightly muffled voice. "Most things aren't as they _should _be." She opened the carriage door, but did not come out. Raoul felt a slight stab as he looked upon the young girl who looked so much like his brother. Her dark eyes and brown hair would have been plain, but with Dimitri's strong, exquisite features, the girl exuded a sort of strength and grace. "You don't want me here. I know it." She continued.

"You're family," he said simply.

"Yes, _family_," she said in a slightly mocking voice. "But do you even know my name?" Raoul turned his gaze downwards and shook his head. "Gabrielle."

"Come inside," he said strongly. Gabrielle glared slightly at him, but stepped out of the carriage resentfully. "This is my wife, Christine,"

Gabrielle nodded politely, but went no further in introducing herself.

"Your father spoke of you in his letters often," Raoul said. "He said you had a lovely singing voice, and that you and he sang together all the time."

"Oh, do sing for us," Christine said, trying to sound as amiable as possible. Gabrielle shook her head fervently.

"I don't sing," she said defiantly. "My father must have told you wrong."

"No, I'm sure he told me so, quite repeatedly." Raoul insisted. "I'm sure—"

"I do not." She interrupted. "If you wouldn't mind, I'd like to go to sleep. It's getting a bit late."

Raoul, seeing no use in trying to change the girl's mind, led her up to a spare room, then followed Christine up into their chambers, where they fell asleep without incident.

Christine, however, would not sleep peacefully. She tossed and turned fitfully, all the while hearing a voice in her dreams.

"_I am your angel of music…_

_Come to me, angel of music…"_

"No," she muttered quietly. "Leave me alone…"

Raoul was woken by her voice, and turned to her. "Darling, wake up," he said. "You're dreaming again, Christine."

"Go away," she whimpered quietly. "Please…"

Raoul shook her until her eyes opened. She saw his face, and immediately threw her arms around him. "He won't go away," she said quietly, nearly whispering it into his ear. "I can't forget him. He keeps calling out to me. He wants me to go back…"

"But you won't," he said adamantly. "Whatever it takes, I'll see to that. You never need to lay eyes on him again,"

"I'll be his victim until he finds another," Christine sobbed. "There will never be another."

"Then what can we do?" Raoul asked.

"Anything…" Christine said frantically. "Everything…oh god, Raoul, just let him find anyone else…" she looked up toward the open door and into the hallway. "Gabrielle."

"What?" Raoul asked.

"Bring her to Paris," Christine said, her voice rising in pitch, but not in volume, so as not to be heard. "Take her to the Opera Populaire,"  
"You're talking about my brother's child," Raoul said in disbelief. "You expect me to bring her _there_? It won't change anything,"

"But if the Phantom wants her…" Christine began. "Then I can be free, Raoul! Isn't that what you want?"

"You know it is," he said weakly.

"Whatever it takes, you said," she defended.

"But my brother's child!" Raoul said.

"Whatever it takes," she repeated, sounding slightly crazed. "If you love me…" she let the condition hang in the air, staring up into her husband's eyes.

He blinked and sighed in resignation. "I'll bring her tomorrow," he said with regret.

* * *

"Leaving again," Gabrielle sighed as she and Raoul stepped into a carriage the next morning. "I suppose I should get used to it." Raoul merely closed the door behind them. He could barely speak, for fear that he would vomit. He felt sick at the thought of what he was possibly doing. 

He knew in his heart that the Phantom would never come after this girl. Gabrielle was nothing that he was looking for, and would never replace Christine. But, to even bring her to that place, to even put her in the presence of that _creature_, Gabrielle's father would be outraged.

Gabrielle stared out the window as the scenery passed by. She had been to Paris before, but had never been to the Opera Populaire. She had always longed to go there with her father, but now, it seemed pointless. It hit her at that moment…

"You're taking me to the Opera," she said mournfully. "I told you, I don't sing,"

"Christine said it might be good for you to go," Raoul said, clearing his throat. "She knows the ballet instructor, Madame Giry."

"Even better," she said sarcastically. "Now I'm going to be a dancer, when I've never danced a minute in my life. How _fun_."

"Please," Raoul said impatiently. "My head hurts terribly. Would you please be quiet a moment."

"With pleasure," she mumbled.

Eventually, the landscape of the peaceful countryside melted into the city backdrop of Paris. A childish smile spread across Gabrielle's face when she first laid eyes on the Opera Populaire, until she realized that she had already resigned herself to hating the place. She replaced the smile with a melancholy grimace once again, but Raoul had seen that brief glimpse of the child within that stony exterior.

He took her hand and brought her out of the carriage and into the building. He gasped deeply upon seeing it once again, remembering what events had transpired when he had last set foot there. Contrary to what he expected, the place was not in shambles. The chandelier that had fallen on that fateful night was still absent, replaced by many smaller lights scattered throughout the theatre. Some of the seats seemed dusted over, as though the theatre had not held a full house in quite a long time. Up on the stage, Madame Giry was teaching a group of dancers.

"Monsieur le Vicomte," she said respectfully upon noticing him. "Who is this young lady you have with you?"

"My niece," he said gently. "Christine wishes for her…to be taught," he said, emphasizing the last three words. Madam Giry raised her eyebrows slightly, showing that she understood.

"I see," she said. "Very well. May I get you anything before you return home?"

"Oh, no," Raoul said, "I'd rather not impose. You all seem quite preoccupied." He nodded and left in quite a hurry. As he returned to the carriage, he futilely tried to swallow back the tears of guilt he felt creeping up on him.

"Mademoiselle," Madame Giry said obligingly.

"Gabrielle," she corrected.

"Very well, Gabrielle then." She corrected, "This is my daughter, Meg. You appear to be nearly the same age. You appear about eighteen. Meg is twenty-two."

"Just so you know, I don't really dance." Gabrielle said nervously.

"Then do you sing?" Madame Giry asked.

"No!" Gabrielle said frantically. She flinched at the way her voice echoed around the empty theater, but the sound calmed her substantially. "I mean, no, madame. I don't."

Giry looked at her suspiciously. And sighed. "Very well then. Meg, would you show her to…Miss Daae's old room?"

Meg looked at her mother questioningly, but did not speak. She merely smiled at Gabrielle and brought her to the room. She looked back over her shoulder to make sure no one was nearby.

"You'll want to be careful in here," she said compassionately. "The last girl we had in here…she was my best friend. Awful things happened to her. The phantom—"

Meg paused and looked at Gabrielle's questioning face. "Nothing," she interrupted herself. "It's just an old story." Meg put her smile back on. The Opera Ghost was gone, and there was no use scaring a new girl with yet another story.

"All right," Gabrielle sighed. "Could you do me a small favor?" Meg nodded. "Tell your mother I don't want to dance. Perhaps you need another girl in the choir?"

"Oh, yes," Meg said, "She'll agree to it, I'm sure." Meg bowed out of the room and left Gabrielle to her thoughts.

Her father had wanted so badly to take her here one day, she remembered. They had shared so many secret dreams, so many ambitions that they'd carry out together. After her mother had died, Gabrielle was all that Dimitri had left. He took such good care of her, and lavished her so wonderfully, it was unlikely that Gabrielle had ever even bumped her head or scraped her knee. She spent her days standing contently next to her father as he sat on the piano bench and played songs way into the night.

For nearly a month now, since Dimitri had died, there was no music. Gabrielle would try to hum a melody to console herself, only to find that it hurt her more than it helped.

She lay down on her new bed, the second new bed she'd lain in for two days, and fell quickly asleep.

Meanwhile, in the deeper reaches of the theatre, a lone masked man sat on a throne, remembering the woman that he had loved. He remembered his music, which had long been silenced. He remembered the joys he may have possibly had, which had so narrowly eluded him.

And, for the first time in a long time, he remembered his own name. He had never had any need for it, and had pushed it into the deepest recesses of his mind. Erik…


	2. Better Left Unheard

_**Disclaimer:**Well, this chapter has a couple original things I wrote in it, but otherwise, the same as last chapter goes for this one. _

_I'm sad. No reviews yet _

_xoxo_

* * *

Gabrielle survived her first rehearsal as a choirgirl of the Opera Populaire, but felt that she had done so quite narrowly. Madame Giry had shot her many sharp looks, knowing that her newest student merely moved her mouth, not emitting any sound. Gabrielle felt relieved, though, that the hectic day was done with. When she was sure that everyone else had gone, she stood on the stage alone and looked out at the empty seats. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, and looked out again, and it was no longer the man's land, but a glimmering, ethereal realm which seemed only to exist in a dream. She saw the seats filled, the room filled with light from a grand chandelier. She looked up and saw herself and her father, sitting on the balcony and applauding loudly. 

She had dreamed of that for so long, but she had never even set foot in Paris when her father was alive, and she and Dimitri would discuss it nearly every night. They weren't poor, but her father had his own troubles. He couldn't walk, his right leg twisted and crooked. He didn't like people seeing him, and never left his home. He thought himself incomplete after he was suddenly taken illafter his wife, Gabrielle's mother, had died. The illness had left his limbs disfigured, and Dimitri could no long stand to see his tired, broken body in the mirror.

Then, the sight before Gabrielle's eyes changed, flickering to thesceneof the night her father died. She had curled up next to him, as she did often when the sound of wind and thunder in the night scared her. It was then that they both awoke upon hearing the sound of glass breaking downstairs. Gabrielle immediately jumped up, ready to look for what had made the noise, but her father had stopped her. Instead, he picked up his walking stick and hobbled off down the stairs. Gabrielle tried to follow him, but he locked her in the room. When she finally managed to break the lock somehow and get out of the room, she couldn't even reach the top of the stairs when the crack of a fired shot echoed through the house. She looked down over the balcony and saw her father lying dead on the ground. The burglar had already fled.

Gabrielle dropped down onto her knees on the stage, breathing heavily. The tears flowed down her porcelain-smooth face.

"Papa," she muttered to herself. "Papa, I miss your music…"

She got back to her feet, and suddenly, it seemed that the room was enveloped in light. She imagined her father sitting at the piano, and the seats filled. She imagined her father's fingers hitting the keys, playing a song that she had never heard, but somehow knew the words to. It seemed that he had written this song for her from heaven…and she opened her mouth, doing what she swore she couldn't. Her voice, rich and pure, yet untrained, echoed through the relic of a theatre...

_The night has come too soon_

_The shadows flex and spread their wings_

_While darkness swallows everything_

_And I am all alone_

_And in this silent night_

_My nightmares are consuming me_

_And no one's there to rescue me_

_I'm lost, and no one knows_

_Will this be the day – when somehow, someway _

_Somebody finds me again?_

_And is there a way – that somehow, someday_

_I might feel my heart beat again?_

_I was not born to know_

_Not born to know how loving feels_

_Born to hurt, but not to heal_

_Born to remain alone  
_

Gabrielle shut her mouth quickly and stared around, making sure no one had heard her. Her vision of the theatre in its prime melted away, and she once again was fully aware of where she was. She gathered herself up and scurried off the stage.

She was thoroughly unaware that someone had heard her. Lurking behind a curtain in Box 5, a figure had been drawn by the sound of music. Gabrielle had never even thought to glance upward in the specter's direction, having already run backstage.

"Gabrielle," Madam Giry said abruptly, catching the young girl by the shoulder. "Would you mind terribly if I spoke to you for a moment?"

"No," she replied shakily, fearing that she'd been eavesdropped upon after all. "What about?"

"You're not even trying," Mme. Giry chided. "I'm sure you have a wonderful voice if you try,"

"I don't sing, and I won't steal any show. I've said that over and over again," Gabrielle said quietly. Then, she breathed in deeply. "But I never said that I couldn't. I just…don't have it in me,"

"Perhaps you need a teacher," Mme. Giry suggested. Gabrielle looked up at her with mournful eyes.

"My father was my teacher," she said quietly. "I don't need _another_. I need him." She lifted up the hem of her skirts and hurried down the hallway, back to her room.

"They want me to sing," she muttered to herself. "Who do they think they are? This isn't just a game. Music is my life…_was _my life,' she corrected herself. After her father had died, she had promised that the music would be their little secret.

Gabrielle, never one who liked chapels and candles and showy prayers, knelt down by her bed and clasped her hands and rested her forehead on them.

"Daddy," she muttered. "Daddy, please, come back…"

_Please take me home, I'm lost here_

_Someone tell me what to do_

_No one but you stood by me_

_Now you've left me too…  
_

She sang so quietly, it seemed she was whispering a secret to someone. She looked around, hoping that, by some miracle, she had gotten her wish. She rubbed at her eyes in disappointment, seeing that no one had come after all, and lay down in bed. She forced herself to fall asleep.

For the first time, her father appeared in her dreams. They were once again sitting at his piano, while he played. Instead of singing, as she always did when he played, she hugged him tightly as he sang to her. She felt herself smile, and did not force it back. Things were right in this dream. She looked downward and saw her father's leg, not twisted and vestigial as it had been. But perfect, long and straight.

"Don't let me wake up, daddy," she sighed, sitting in closer to him.

"You have to," he chided, not pausing in his playing. "I died, not you, child. You have much more to do before your time is done."

"So did you," she said sadly. "No one here needs me, papa. Why can't I stay here with you?"

"Don't be silly," he said. "There are some who need you, if you only open yourself to finding them."

"Will you come see me again?" she asked. Her father shook her head. "But papa, why? You have to come to me, or I'll go insane,"

Dimitri looked at his daughter and shook his head. Keeping his eye honed directly at her, he kissed her on the forehead and granted her one last song. She sat up straight and stared at him, his voice growing more and more distant with every note.

_Don't give up now, my songbird_

_Look at what you have to give_

_So long as you still remember_

_I will never leave…  
_

Gabrielle sat bolt upright in her bed, staring frantically around her room. "Daddy?" she said loudly. "Daddy, come back!" She shrieked repeatedly for her father until Madam Giry and Meg came rushing through the door.

"Child, what's wrong?" Mme. asked as they sat down next to Gabrielle, whose body shook with dry sobs. "It's all right, you were having a nightmare,"

"No, it wasn't a nightmare," she said quietly, "You don't understand. It was the best dream I've ever had…but I woke up."

Meg looked at the other girl in sympathy. "You'll be happy here, you know," she said comfortingly. "Just give it a chance."

Gabrielle tried desperately to normalize her breathing. "I want to try," she said quietly. "It's just…it's…hard." Her big brown eyes shimmered with tears and moonlight.

"Go to sleep," Mme. Giry said, rubbing the girl's back comfortingly. "We'll see how you feel in the morning, hm?" She tilted her head to the side and looked into Gabrielle's eyes. The younger girl nodded, and lay back down as Meg and Mme. Giry left. Mme. locked the door behind her, which Meg noticed.

"What are you doing, mother?" she asked, worried.

"Don't dwell on it, child," she said. "I only want to see…"

Gabrielle slowly ay her head back on the pillows and stared blankly up at the wall. "You're really gone," she sighed in realization. "So where do I go from here?" She pulled the covers up closer around herself. She was ready to force herself to go to sleep again when she heard something rustling as though it were far away. She closed her eyes and dismissed it as a rat rummaging through the garbage outside.

_I am the angel of music…  
_

"Who's there?" Gabrielle said quietly.

_Come to me, angel of music…  
_

"If you don't leave, I swear…" she said shakily.

_I am the angel of music…  
_

Gabrielle sat up again, practically throwing the sheets off of the bed. Her heart began pulsing as she opened her mouth and began to sing her reply to this voice's rhapsody.

_What reason is there to believe you?_

_Why even bother to try?  
__  
There's no such thing as angels_

_Why believe a lie?  
_

She stopped and waited anxiously. This time, the voice stopped. She gulped in relief and nestled back into bed. The rest of the night was spent in relative peace.

Meanwhile, outside, Madame Giry had her head against the door, having heard the entire exchange. She shook her head, and stepped away.

"You've chosen her, Erik?" she muttered. "Just when I thought these games were done…"_  
_


	3. This is Ludicrous

_Disclaimer: I own the characters I made up, and the plot. Is it necessary to rub it in that I don't own anything else? Hee._

_I got reviews! Thanks to **EmailyGirl**, **Phantoms-angel1**, and **Aubrey Daniels!**_

_Usually, I reply back to reviewers, but I think I'll wait until the story actually gets interesting first, haha._

_xoxo

* * *

_

Gabrielle woke up the next morning, feeling the lightest she had in a long time. After the previous night, she felt that she was ready to start facing reality, no matter how slowly she had to do it. She stretched and stepped out of bed, pulling a robe over her nightgown and stepping outside.

"Are you feeling any better?" Meg asked. Gabrielle smiled slightly and nodded.

"I might even be up for one of your mother's rehearsals," she laughed quietly. "But it might be better if I got a meal in before they tie me into a corset." She smiled again and walked off to where the other girls were already eating. She cut herself a warm slice of bread and helped herself to a cup of tea.

She followed the rest of the girls as they filed out onto the stage, ready for rehearsals. Madame Giry had them warm-up, singing rounds of the Ave Maria. Gabrielle looked around warily and opened her mouth, letting a tiny voice escape her lips. She restrained herself the entire time, being absolutely sure not to be louder than any of the other girls.

Mme. Giry sent a few furtive glances in the girl's direction, which Gabrielle did not fail to notice. She saw the potential in Gabrielle, no matter how hard Gabrielle threw herself into hiding it.

Even as she was singing, Gabrielle's mind wandered to the voice she heard last night. It sounded as though it came from right next to her, yet it echoed as thought it came from some distant place. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever heard, and for those short moments, even while she feared its source, it made her forget everything, even her father.

She did not want the voice to return, for fear of the body with which it may have come, but she desperately wanted the sound to remain fresh in her mind. Once that faint echo faded from her memory, the pain she felt would return. She would once again feel like a stranger in this place. She would feel completely alone, and that was the last thing she needed.

As soon as Mme. Giry dismissed her choirgirls in the afternoon, Gabrielle walked in a trance-like state back to her chambers, closing the door behind her. She glanced about the room, and noticed an item on the table, which had been bare when she had left that morning. She walked over to it and picked up a long-stemmed rose with a thin black ribbon tied to it. She ran her finger over its length, finding that the thorns did not cut her, almost as if she just passed through them. She then picked up another item, a letter, closed by a macabre wax seal depicting a round skull. She broke the seal and began reading the letter aloud to herself.

_Mademoiselle Gabrielle,_

_It is my pleasure to welcome you to the Opera Populaire. I only hope that you find your stay a leisurely one. If I frightened you last night, you have my sincerest apologies. It merely occurred to me that you needed a tutor if you wish to pursue the gift you possess. I believe you will find a way to make it known if you have any need of my presence._

_-O.G._

Gabrielle placed the letter back on the table and stared at it as though it were some fragile relic. Someone had left her these things, but she hadn't the faintest idea whom. Perhaps, she thought, one of the boys in the choir had decided to play a trick on her.

"How bored they must be to bother me like this," she sighed, slipping onto to her bed. Still, she couldn't help but wonder how on earth they could about these things…a _gift _she possessed? She lay on her stomach with her chin in her hands and her legs bent up into the air. As she sat idly, Mme. Giry stepped into the room. "Good evening, Madame," she said quietly.

"Hello, Mademoiselle de Chagny—"

"_Excusez moi?_" she said, "My surname is Clairmont, Madame,"

"How is that?" she asked. "Was your father not the Vicomte's brother?"

"My father took his mother's surname, out of a certain distaste for his father," Gabrielle explained. "My father always said it was a rather complicated matter. But onto other things! What brings you here, Madame?"

"I'm sorry to bother you, dear, but I must speak to you once again," she said in a matronly tone. Gabrielle sat up properly and moved over so that the older woman had a place on the bed next to her. "Have you ever heard of the phantom who haunts this theatre?" she asked. Gabrielle cocked her head to the side questioningly. She had never heard any of those kinds of stories. "There once was a man," Giry said mysteriously, "He lived under this very theatre, though he went unseen by all of those who played here. Secretly, he tutored one girl, a choirgirl and a dancer who I took in. I…" Mme. Giry paused carefully and considered her words. She could not bring herself to say that the girl of which she spoke was a woman that Gabrielle had, in fact, already met. "I do not remember her name. But the Phantom fell in love with her, a love that would not be returned, for she fell in love with the theatre's principle patron, a rich nobleman." _A young Vicomte, _Giry thought.

Gabrielle listened, totally mesmerized, as Giry spoke of hangings and falling chandeliers, of mysterious voices and strange happenings. Then, she spoke of the performanse of an opera titled _Don Juan Triumphante_, and of the tragedy that befell the Opera Populaire from that night forward. She spoke in uncanny detail of a lair underground, where the young singer was willing to sacrifice her freedom to save her true love's life, and spend her life with the man who hid behind a mask.

"That's terrible," Gabrielle said breathlessly. "What a cruel, horrible thing to do." An uncomfortable silence, and it seems that the air trembled in fear, as someone far beyond had heard them speaking. A movement in the reflection of a mirror caught the corner of Gabrielle's eye, but she shook her head, banishing any idea of the possibility that someone was watching.

"Then you, like many others, condemn him for being a monster—"

"Madame, you misunderstand," Gabrielle said sincerely. "The only monster I see is that girl…"

"How so?" Giry asked. "And…speak up, would you? This old woman's ears aren't as trustworthy as they once were." Giry, of course, had no such troubles with her ears, but knew quite well that an unseen specter was somehow hearing this as well.

"No one deserves to be toyed with," Gabrielle said in a heartfelt voice. "She was willing to manipulate that poor man to let her lover run free. She pretended to love him, then ran away at the first opportunity. If I were to meet that horrid woman, I'd tell her this myself…" She trailed off and shook her head. "Forgive me, Madame. I'm being too rash. It's just that I get carried away at times."

"It's no crime," Giry said gently. She now was quite relieved to not have spoken the names of the players in this foul tragedy. If he had told Gabrielle that it had been her own uncle and his wife, she would never see them the same. "I suppose you'd like to know, your uncle's going to be arriving soon," she said. "He wants to make sure you're doing all right."

Gabrielle sighed heavily. Somehow she wished that the story Giry told her had ended differently...Of course, she wished that _many _stories in her life had ended differently. She changed out of her first dress and into another, one that was more simple and didn't require the assistance of a corset. By the time she had finished, she hurried down into the theatre lobby, where her uncle has waiting.

"Uncle Raoul, you're back," she said with a smile. "It seems only yesterday you brought me here,"

"I believe it _was _only yesterday," he laughed, kissing her on the cheek. "And yet it seems that one day has already done you a world of good."

"Oh yes, it has," Gabrielle said. "I believe a good night's sleep in a new bed did something for me."

"Gabrielle," he said, suddenly quite serious. "You know, I want to know you. I made the mistake of hardly speaking to Dimitri, and I don't wish tolose the opportunity to be the uncle to you that I should be."

"Well, I'm grown now, as I've said," she sighed, "But I suppose at any age, one needs guidance from someone older and wiser."

"There you have it," Raoul smiled. "So, what have you learned from these old brutes?" he laughed.

"Oh, Madam Giry just told me the most interesting story before you came," Gabrielle said. "It was about a phantom who lived in this very theatre. Isn't that incredible? She said he was real—"

"That old story?" Raoul said uncomfortably. "Oh, they tell that to everyone. Why, I used to come here often and they tried to scare me away with it. Surely, you noticed how unrealistic the entire story was?"

"I suppose so," she replied quietly. "But…I don't know, I supposed a part of me wishes it could have been real...a part of me that thought it _could _be real."

"Trust me," Raoul said. "There is no Phantom of the Opera." He shuddered involuntarily, remembering the last time he said those words on the roof of the very theatre in which he stood…and, oh, how wrong he had been.

"But it's a story I'm going to remember forever," she sighed sadly. "I've seen what it does to you, being thought of as unwhole, or as some sort of misshapen creature. My father died, feeling as though I was the only one who'd ever care for him, and that I only did because it was my obligation. He never saw what I saw." As Gabrielle spoke openly about her father for the first time, Raoul listened intently, and it seemed as though the walls did too, for the space suddenly seemed to be more closed and more intimate. "My father would awaken every morning and see himself as nothing but a crippled, withered man, yet to me, his crippled leg did not matter. When he sang to me, or played me his songs, the music didn't come from that crippled leg. It came from his heart. Oh lord, uncle, my father had the most beautiful heart of any man alive…" Gabrielle's eyes started tearing up again, and Raoul bravely stepped forward, embracing her.

"See what happens because of these stories?" he laughed weakly. "They do nothing but make you cry. I know you want to believe in these fantastic things, but you mustn't cling onto these notions this way."

"I suppose you're right," Gabrielle said in resignation. "But it's all right to dream." She stepped back and smiled. "Your wife will be missing you. You should get home." The two embraced again, and parted ways. Gabrielle headed back to her room and lay down on her bed, staring up at the ceiling. As her neck grew tired, she turned her head to the side.

She then noticed that the rose had moved to her bedside table. She picked it up and looked at it, running her fingers over the length of the stem again. She sat up for a moment and looked her table in the corner, noticing that the rose was still there. Someone had left her another one. She lay back down, staring at the flower in her hand.

"Someone's trying to play a joke on me," she muttered as she yawned and fell asleep, not needing to force herself this time.


	4. Refusal and Denial

_DISCLAIMER: I own Gabrielle and her occasional stupid bouts of curiosity. That's all in this chapter. Reviews? Plzthnx!_

_**Aubrey Daniels: **Glad you like Gabrielle so far!  
**EmailyGirl : **GAH! I HOPE my Erik isn't warm and fuzzy. Keep your fingers crossed!  
**Phantoms-angel1: **Well, Raoul's gonna be getting in the way once in a while, but hopefully you don't hate him TOO much. It's not his fault he's such a fop ._

_xoxo_

* * *

On the next day of her stay at the Opera Populaire, Gabrielle was woken rather abruptly when she was being shaken at the shoulder. She rubbed her eyes and looked at Meg, looking almost hysteric with eagerness. _How anyone can be so…energetic…in the morning is far beyond me_, she thought.

"Wake up," she said quietly, though she was ironically still jumping as though she couldn't wait to do something. "Gabrielle, I want you to see something."

"See something?" Gabrielle groaned, pulling a dressing coat off of the hook it sat on and about her shoulders, slipping her arms deftly through the sleeves.

"I need to take you someplace," Meg said, bouncing uncomfortably on the balls of her feet. "But don't tell my mother where I'm taking you. You're not supposed to be there…no one is. No one _has been _for years."

"Then why is it so important that we go?" Gabrielle asked, now stepping into her slippers. "It's probably dusty, and dirty."

"Just…just because," Meg said impatiently. "Oh, come on! Don't tell me you're not curious about what I'm going to show you."

"Now I am," she said, turning her head abruptly. After just a few days, Meg already could tell that curiosity was Gabrielle's greatest vice. "I don't like it when people make me play guessing games." She stated, standing up and smoothing her clothes out.

"Come on, then!" Meg sighed, rolling her eyes and taking Gabrielle by the wrist. They descended lower and lower into the theatre's lower floors, lower than Gabrielle would have ever thought possible, finding themselves in a twisting mass of hallways.

"Do you even know where we're going?" Gabrielle said meekly. "It looks like we're lost."

"We're not lost," Meg said knowingly. "This…this is just the only way I know how to get there. There are others, but I only know of one. Just trust me."

Gabrielle submitted as the older girl dragged her on. They reached the ledge, where the paved walkway met with a mass of water. A rickety canoe sat right at the shore, and Meg began pulling Gabrielle in.

"Are you sure it's safe?" Gabrielle asked, stepping carefully inside. "It doesn't even look like it'll hold _one _of us. How are we both going to ride in it?

"Of course, it's fine. You've got to be able to trust me by now, Gabrielle." Meg encouraged, pulling on her hand insistently. "Just make sure you stay with me, and watch out." Meg began rapidly rowing.

"Watch out?" Gabrielle asked. "Watch out for what?"

"For everything," the older girl replied ominously.

"You're scaring me!" Gabrielle said, standing and stamping her foot, nearly making the boat tip. Meg, however, was not looking at her, but behind her. Gabrielle turned around and saw that they had reached the end of the underground river. She hopped out into the water, wading in the ankle-deep pool. It was a tavern filled with candles, and shattered mirrors. The centerpiece of the room was a large pipe organ. She walked up to it and stared down at it.

Dimitri had always wanted to play a pipe organ…

Gabrielle shook her head fervently and turned back to Meg. "Where have you taken us?" she asked, her voice quivering. Her ears seemed to her the wind pick up, and the echo of a vaguely familiar female voice. It was only an echo, hardly audible, except to Gabrielle's specifically honed ears, fashioned to hear even the faintest trace of a melody…

_Pitiful creature of darkness, what sort of life have you known…?_

"Who is that?" Gabrielle muttered, her eyes darting anxiously about the cavern.

"Who?" Meg asked worriedly.

"You didn't hear it?" Gabrielle asked, her eyes seeming more and more unfocused as her gaze kept revolving around the room. She was started to waver, her legs shaking unsteadily.

"I didn't hear anything," Meg said straightly. "Gabrielle, come on. We should leave. I think it was a mistake bringing you here."

"I'll be alright," she said vaguely, still staring around. "There's two boats. Just leave me one, and I'll be able to find my way back." She paused to look at Meg, knowing the girl who had taken her here would want a reason why she wanted to stay. "I think I've dropped something."

Out of fear, Meg ran away, and was gone in seconds. Gabrielle stood there for what seemed like hours, until a voice nearly deafened her after her ears had grown accustomed to the silence.

Come to me, Angel of Music… 

"Who are you?" Gabrielle called out, crossing her arms uncomfortably. "Don't you dare go anywhere, not until you tell me why you've been following me!"

"Following you, my dear?" A male voice answered, making Gabrielle jump. Her hand landed on the keys of the organ, scaring her even further with the blaring note it emitted. She stood up and shook herself off as the voice laughed, almost maliciously. "How am I following when it was you who came here…to me?"

"Who are you?" she repeated persistently. "I didn't come to you…"

"You mean you haven't heard of me?" he mocked. "The Phantom—"

"The Phantom of the Opera," Gabrielle said, trying to force a laugh out of her fearfully dry throat. "There's no such thing! Who are you?" She didn't give the voice a chance to answer, and hurried away. She kept running until she finally saw light again, somehow not getting lost. She caught up with Meg, breathless from running.

"That was a horrid thing to do," she panted sarcastically with a catty grin. "I swear to God, Meg, you're trying to scare me."

"What are you talking about?" she asked. "What took you so long?"

"Who did you get to try to scare me into thinking there was a ghost?" she asked, crossing her arms. "It nearly worked. Just nearly! Who else is in on this?" Meg blinked obliviously, not providing Gabrielle with an answer. Gabrielle rolled her eyes and laughed. "You won't tell me? I'll find out eventually." She shrugged and went back into her room.

Meg sighed in relief that Gabrielle dropped the subject, but jumped when she was suddenly turned to face her mother.

"Meg, what have you done?" she asked gently. "He's angry."

Meanwhile, Gabrielle found another note lying on her vanity. She picked it up and opened it carefully.

_Gabrielle,_

_Little girl, you're grating on me quite unpleasantly. You'd do well to open you mind to me before I lose patience completely. Otherwise, you will see for yourself what happens to those who refuse to believe._

_O.G._

Gabrielle shook her head so hard that she felt that she had completely rattled her brain. She sat down on her bed, waiting for the room to stop spinning.

"I'm dreaming, I'm dreaming," she chanted to herself, lying her head down onto the cushions and turned out the light. "That's…the only…explanation…" she yawned, happily accepting the sleep that overcame her.


	5. In Which Questions Are Asked and Answere...

_I feel sad. I only own Gabrielle, Dimitri (who we learn more about in this chapter), and the plotline...and I'm not getting very many reviews. _

_Thanks to my only reviewer for the last chapter so far, EmailyGirl. Even if only a few people actually read this story, that's enough of a reason to keep the story up. STILL, I'd appreciate it BUNCHES and BUNCHES is you recommended this story to anyone who might review...just a suggestion _

_xoxo_

* * *

Gabrielle woke up at her own choosing for once, not worried about any rehearsals, for Madame Giry had not been feeling well since the previous day. Even more relieving, Meg hadn't come rushing in with any wild adventures for them to pursue. Leisurely, she sat up and stretched, keeping her eyes shut because of the sunlight flooding the room. She shook her head with a smile at the warmth of day hitting her face. Shielding her face with one hand, she finally opened her eyes. It was then that she noticed a piece of parchment in her lap— not the one she had read the previous night, but an unopened one, still bearing the macabre red seal. Unfolding the paper delicately, she reluctantly read the words written in the now all too familiar elegant script. 

_Mademoiselle,_

_I sincerely hope that a good night's sleep has cleared your mind sufficiently. It is, as I have already said, absolutely imperative that you cease harboring these doubts of my existence. Your better judgement will quite hopefully reveal unto you the better decision. I remain patient for the time being._

_O.G._

"The most articulate ghost I've ever had the pleasure of knowing," she said sarcastically, putting the letter on the bed and stepping out of her bed. She looked down and realized that she was still dressed. She smoothed the wrinkles out of her ensemble, hoping that no one would notice that she had worn the same dress for the second day in a row. "Good," she said with a satisfied smile, looking at her reflection in the mirror after sufficient primping for the day. "Now, to investigate a bit." She stood up from her vanity table and strode over to the door. It was still fairly early, and she banked on the fact that none of her comrades were early risers. Just to be sure, she peered around and made sure no one was roaming around.

She ran as fast as her feet would carry her in her dress and slippers, back to where Meg had taken her the day before. Somehow, she didn't need to pause to remember where to turn. She merely bobbed through the winding hallways like a little child who had been playing there for her entire life. She found herself back at that tavern, and began perusing through the various things scattered on the ground. The first thing that caught her eye was a box, attached to a toy monkey. Finding it interesting enough, she picked it up. Then, fearing that she'd be caught by someone if she continued snooping for too long, she ran the entire length of the distance back to her room, locking the door behind her. Her skirt was now wet nearly up to her waist from having to wade through—she had somehow not been able to find the boat she and Meg had used the previous day. She tried to wring them out, but eventually gave up, decided to sit in the sunlight and let them dry on their own.

She sat on her bed, placing the toy in front of her. She wound up the key on it and nearly squealed out in surprise at the tinkling melody that began to play. "I know that song," she said in very vague, misty tone. In a tiny, nearly inaudible voice, she hummed along. "It's papa's favorite song," she said with a somber smile. Even more quietly, she began to sing along with the music.

"_Masquerade…Paper faces on parade_

_Masquerade…_

_Hide your face so the world will never find you…"  
_

Gabrielle jumped horribly when she heard a knock at her door, then the click of the knob turning and opening. She winced as she realized she had been careless enough not to lock it after all.

"Good afternoon, my dear," Madame Giry said, stepping inside.

"Hello, feeling better, Madame?" she replied, trying to scoot in front of the trinket she had found. But Madame Giry's shrewd eye couldn't be fooled. She walked quickly forward and picked the box up.

"Where did you find this?" she asked, looking at Gabrielle gravely.

"It was just lying around," Gabrielle shrugged, trying her best to lie, though she was horrible at the trade.

"This does not just _lie around_," Giry said. "I know where Meg took you yesterday. Did you go back there?"

"Only for a moment," the younger girl shrugged dismissively. But then, she noticed the look on the old woman's face. "Madame, I'm…I'm sorry. I didn't know I wasn't supposed to be there."

"You're going to get yourself killed with that curiosity," she said in a nearly mournful tone.

"Killed by who?" Gabrielle asked in alarm.

"Child, I've already told you who's hiding in this very theatre," Giry said uncomfortably, "Don't ask that I tell you again."

"The Phantom, Madame?" Gabrielle asked skeptically, the expression of disbelief breaking onto her normally pleasant features. "My uncle Raoul already told me that he isn't real."

"Yes, I assume he would," Giry said presumingly. "But don't you think there could be such thing as—"

"Magic?" Gabrielle scoffed. "I doubt it, Madame. I've gotten a bit too old."

"Then I advise that you start thinking more openly before it's too late," Madame Giry said, leaving in a hurry. Gabrielle stared after her awkwardly for a moment, even though the older woman had slammed the door behind her. Then, she stood up and pulled down the shade to the window, draping the room in total darkness. Then, she threw herself upon the bed.She buried her head in her arms, and just lay that way for a while.

"Oh, Papa," she said tearfully. "I doubt even know what to believe anymore. You always told me to never believe what I can't see…"

"Then what do you still question?" a voice replied, which she recognized as her father's. It echoed rather ominously, but she somehow knew that it was the man who had protected her for so long, and that it would do no harm to reply. She hadn't been aware that she had fallen asleep, but was relieved to hear her father's voice. "Why do you want to believe in fairy tales?"

"I've never seen my heart beating, but I never question that it does, purely because I can feel it," she said weakly. "I've never seen God, but I still pray, and you never chided me for that. You can't see…" her voice trailed off, punctuated by a frail whimper.

"Can't see what?" Dimitri asked.

"You can't see a melody. You can only hear it," Gabrielle said sadly. "…and feel it. Your eyes can deceive you, it's not hard to lie to the mind. But there are other things that can't be fooled so easily."

"Songbird, you've learned an indisposable lesson," Dimitri's voice said somberly, "And now, you've finally learned enough for me to leave you."

"Papa, no—"

"Part of life is to let go," he said lovingly. "Think of what you've told me. Yes, you'll not be able to see me, but life is not about what you see. It's about what you feel."

"I don't want you to go," she said through sobs. She felt like a child again, clinging desperately to her father as though she didn't want him to leave on a long trip.

"I need to leave," he replied. "Understand that you cannot have everything that you want in this life."

"I love you, Papa," she said, trying to steady her breathing, beginning to accept what was happening. "I love you."

"And I only ask that you bless another with that same love one day," he said. "Au revoir, ma petite oiseau."

"Goodbye," she whispered. Suddenly, she was aware that her eyes were open. She looked around the pitch black darkness of her room. She felt an odd peace, until a voice boomed through the silence of her room.

Skeptical child, you dare to doubt me 

_When I am here before you_

Refusing the urge to scream, she bit down on her lip and clenched her eyes shut. That voice confirmed her worst fear—that there were things in the world that she couldn't explain. But in these short few days, she had come to accept it. She hadn't come to like it, but it was true. After all of the time she had spent trying to believe that she had complete over her whole future, in that split second she decided that she had no control at all. Then, she opened her mouth and gave her reply.

_Angel, no longer do I question_

_That you are there, hiding…_

_Blind me no longer, let me see you_

_Distant and strange specter…  
_

"Sing for me." The voice spoke with such finality that Gabrielle nearly gave no resistance.

"What?" she asked, mentally berating herself for nearly betraying her vow that she had eliminated music from her life. "I sing for no one."

"You will come to sing for me, make no mistake of it." he said with such finality that Gabrielle shuddered involuntarily in grim acceptance of his statement. Then, a gust of hot, nearly unbearable wind swept through the room, making the shades fly open. Gabrielle was nearly blinded by the sudden onslaught of brightness, but, once her eyes adjusted, she realized that no one was in the room. She must have still been dreaming. _Of course, _she thought, _I really must stop having these dreams._

Still uncomfortable with the fact that she was alone, she rushed outside, where she promptly ran into Meg Giry, who was staring out into the main lobby from the stairway, where her mother was talking to two older men.

"Who are they?" Gabrielle asked, her curiosity once again overpowering her fear.

"The managers, Andre and Firmin," Meg said quietly. "They haven't shown their faces in so long, I thought they'd forgotten they even own this place. Gabrielle, do you know what this means?"

"That they _remember _that they owned the theatre?" she suggested.

"No, silly," Meg laughed. "It means we're going to have a real show again. Or at least we're going to try."

"Really," Gabrielle said, feigning disinterest.

"Oh, but all of our leads are gone," Meg groaned, continuing her tirade, "I they don't call for Signora Carlotta to come back."

"Perhaps you should try for a lead," Gabrielle suggested.

"Heavens, no!" Meg laughed. "I'm a dancer, remember? But you could try, you know."

"Heavens, no! I'm a choirgirl, remember?" she mimicked.

"Who's to say that you couldn't?" Meg supplied.

"Who's to say that I can?" she countered. "I don't sing." She shrugged and went back to her room, forgetting her earlier distress. She sat down on her bed and looked up at the ceiling, wondering why her father had chosen this particular day to stop providing her with counsel. "Why can't you just be here?" she said dismally. "For a moment, I thought you'd come back…just for me. But you never will. I used to love singing, but I can't anymore. You left me. You took my voice with you."

"Then ask for it back," a voice replied as a flurry of wind shut the door. Gabrielle whirled around, and for the first time, had a physical being to attach to the voice. She stared up, unable to move. Her shoulders shook uncontrollably, and she began to realize what price she might have to pay for her curiosity.

Standing before her was a figure clad in black, a white mask covering half of his face. Gabrielle tried to open her mouth and speak, but initially couldn't find her voice. After all the trouble she had taken to keep herself from believing…All for naught.

"If you come here without warning again I may be scared enough to scream," she said matter-of-factly, pulling back her shoulders in order to steady herself. The man just smirked at her, cocking his head backwards.

"You know better." he said simply.

"Do I?" she asked. But before she received an answer, he somehow disappeared from right in front of her.

Gabrielle sat down on her bed. Now she'd seen him. She couldn't say that she was merely hearing things. He was real, and he could not be avoided.


	6. If Curiosity Killed the Cat

_DISCLAIMER: neh. Not much originality this chapter. All I own is Gabrielle. How sad!_

_Thanks mucho to _**Aubrey Daniels, Angleoftheopera, Rancid Melody, **_and _**kristinekat13**. _I 3 you guys!_

_Oh yeah, in case anyone's "discombobulated" over it, I'm usingmostly ALW/movie-verse facts, so don't shoot me if you're a Kay or Leroux fan. I just started reading Leroux's version this weekm and I'm liking it, so I might throw in some stuff from that into future chapters, but not until after I finish reading._

_xoxo_

* * *

"Ah, Gabrielle, just the girl I've been looking for," Madam Giry said warmly, stealing the girl away from her supper and sweeping her off to walk with her around the stage. "I believe my daughter has told you that we are trying to reopen the theatre for the viewing public."

"Yes, she mentioned it," Gabrielle said politely. "I think it's a wonderful, to finally get over the past and stop letting those old stories stop you."

"We'll be performing _Hannibal_, since it was the last successful opera we put on," Giry said simply. "We still haven't found a lead, though."

"That's a pity," Gabrielle sighed. "But I'm sure you'll find someone eventually. This is Paris, surely there's no deficiency of talent. Just step outside, and I'm sure you'll find"

"We want you," Giry said abruptly. Gabrielle stopped in her tracks and stared at the older woman in shock.

"Madame, with all due respect, whoever is casting must be daft," she laughed weakly, forcing a smile. "I'm a choirgirl, and most definitely not a soprano. What would you come to me for?"

"We're merely looking for a change," Giry said. "Something that will draw the people's attention. I believe that casting in you in this role will do just that." Gabrielle still stared at her skeptically. "Well, you're a rather pleasant sight, and your voice could be improved, undoubtedly, if it is even as bad as you say…"

"_He _asked you to choose me, didn't he?" Gabrielle asked knowingly. "I'm flattered that someone so…influential…has taken an interest, but I would much rather have it that I earn it myself." She paused, at a temporary loss for words, but remedied that condition rather quickly. "I will only accept the role if I'm better than any other who has ever performed it in this company."

"We've only had one, Signora Carlotta," Madame Giry said, purposefully neglecting to mention Christine. Giry did not feel that this young girl was ready to see how tightly she was interwoven into the entire situation.

"And what about this _Signora_?" she asked.

"Honestly?" Giry said, "I believe that _Meg _could have done the role better."

Gabrielle paused pensively, seemingly weighing her alternatives. "No one else wants the part?"

"No one dares," Madame Giry supplied.

"But why?" Gabrielle asked, the curiosity sparking in her eyes again, a spark that Giry desperately threw her effort into quelling.

"It's…just such a hard part to play," she lied. "It's one night, and one performance. Surely it won't be too much for you, would it?"

"No, no Madame," she said in resignation. "Not too much at all."

Gabrielle stormed into her room and began speaking rather heatedly at no one in particular. "You!" she said passionately. "You told Madame Giry to give me the part, didn't you?" She began spinning around, looking for the figure she sought. It wasn't until she paused in her spinning that she heard the voice behind her.

"You're the only one qualified," he said simply.

"I won't sing," she growled angrily, "Tell her you want someone else!"

The man grabbed her by her hair and pulled her so close that she could feel his breath on her skin as he spoke. "You will do as I tell you—"

"Don't touch me!" she shrieked suddenly, making sure her voice was loud enough to be heard outside. Footsteps could be heard running down the hallway towards the chamber.

The Phantom hurled Gabrielle to the ground and hissed angrily, "Say NOTHING, wench," he hissed. "The damage has been done." With a toss of his cape, he disappeared, dissolving into shadow once more.

"Gabrielle!" Meg shrieked, seeing the girl who it seemed that she had taken under her wing lying on the ground, "What happened? What's wrong?"

"I fell down," Gabrielle said shakily. "The hem of this dress is far too long."

"She lies," Madame Giry said quietly, parting the crowd that had clustered in the doorway. "The ghost has graced us with his presence once again."

"Then we'll find him!" Meg said, the rest of the dancers and choir whopping various proclamations of dissent.

"You stupid pips!" Gabrielle groaned over the ruckus. "How many times do I need to tell you that there's no such thing as ghosts!" she sighed and looked around at their faces, seeing that they were not to be deterred. "Swear to me, all of you, that if you find nothing tonight you'll stop believing these fairytales."

"And if we do find him?" Meg asked.

"Then I'll admit I was wrong, and you were all right." she sighed. "Go on then." She shooed them out of her room and shut the door. "Where are you?" she hissed into the darkness.

"You follow directions well."

Gabrielle jumped slightly as he materialized right behind her once again. "Not well enough, apparently, and I apologize for that." she said piously.

"No matter," he said. "I have my ways."

"Stay here." she said simply.

"Pardon me?" he asked, looking at her oddly. Had she just asked him to stay?

"It's only logical, isn't it?" she asked. "They won't think to look here if they just _came _from here. Just stay until they've come back up."

He stared at her suspiciously, then opted to sit in an armchair across the room from her bed. Gabrielle climbed under her covers and stared up at the ceiling, at the wall, anywhere besides the spot where her guest sat. They seemed frozen in place for nearly two hours, neither of them saying a word to the other.

"Maybe I should apologize again," she thought.

She looked at the grandfather clock in the corner and noticed that some two full hours had passed. She rolled her shoulders and pushed the covers off, only to find that it was absolutely too cold. She wrapped them around her shoulders as she sat up to look at the figure in the chair; he was quite asleep. She sighed and stood up, walking over to the chair. She took the blanket off of her shoulders and put it over him, muttering to herself in a sing-song voice, "Can't have _monsieur le fantome_ freezing, can we?" Then she crawled back into bed under the thinner sheet.

"Thank you," a voice muttered quietly from the corner. Gabrielle opened her mouth slightly in surprise, but still pretended to be asleep.

Soon, there was a loud knocking on the door, shaking Gabrielle awake from a very shallow slumber. "Gabrielle!" Meg said loudly. "Gabrielle, hello? Why is your door locked?"

"Meg, stop pounding!" she groaned, feigning a pained voice. "I have a horrible headache, and I'm trying to sleep!"

"Oh, sorry," she said. "We…we didn't find anything, just so you know."

"I told you so," Gabrielle said quietly. She glanced at the corner, finding that the inhabitant of the plush red armchair hadn't stirred. She turned over and went back to sleep, assured that he'd leave once he realized that the coast was clear.

The next morning, Gabrielle sat up and stretched, yawning delicately. She jumped when she opened her eyes, realizing that she was not quite alone in the room. She stood up and noticed that the figure in the armchair had not yet budged. She strode over until she was standing right in front of him.

_He really is one of a kind…_she thought. _He looks tired._

She took that short moment to look at every detail in his sleeping face— every fine line that was invisible from a distance, every shade and shadow, every crease in his lips. He was so unbelievably human, Gabrielle nearly forgot who she was looking at in the first place.

"I wonder," she muttered, staring intently at his white mask. Right now, it stood as the only barrier, the only thing keeping her from knowing that he truly was real. Without even realizing it, her hand began to move slowly out towards it. Closer, closer it inched along until her fingertips grazed the mask's surface. Her lips parted in curious anticipation as she nearly had her tiny fingers curled over the edge of the mask

Suddenly, as if he had sensed someone coming too close, his eyes flew open, and he leapt up, snatching her wrist in a vice-like grip. "You." he hissed. "So you planned this, didn't you?"

"No," Gabrielle said meekly, her breathe coming in slight gasps as she trembled slightly. Her knees were buckling under some unseen pressure, "I'm sorry, I—"

"Thought you'd lure the ghost here, did you?" he continued, his eyes brimming with crazed rage. "Thought you'd unravel the mystery all on your own, and tell all of your little friends—"

"No!" Gabrielle squealed, her face pale, and her eyes slightly unfocused as though she was having trouble breathing. "I didn't mean anything! I just…I…I…" her eyes rolled back, and she slumped onto the ground with a sigh.

The masked man stared down at her in surprise, disdain, and the almost imperceptible modicum of concern. "Stupid girl," he muttered, disappearing once again

Gabrielle woke up again about an hour later, her eyes reeling from the sudden glare of the sun. "Ugh, my head," she muttered, pushing herself up from the ground. Her mind now erupted with realization of what had happened just earlier. She then noticed another letter on her vanity table. She picked it up, but left her room before opening it. She stepped outside and began walking down to the main stage, remembering that she had a rehearsal scheduled. She opened the letter, reading it reluctantly and not eagerly awaiting the anger that awaited her in it…

Mademoiselle… 

_I apologize for having alarmed you so severely, but you surely would have been far more alarmed had your hand moved a hair's breadth farther. You'll find that I was not once known as the Devil's Child without reason._

_-O.G._

Gabrielle sighed in relief. He wasn't planning on having her head on a platter for the earlier incident after all. Suddenly, without any opportunity to back in this sweet relief, someone took her by the wrist and pulled her into an alcove in the walkway.

"He was with you, child!" Madame Giry hissed conspiratorially. "After all I've done to prevent him from taking you, you call on him and hide him—"

"We cannot change what has already been done," Gabrielle said in a very blank, careless voice as she carefully turned her wrist, having had it yanked so harshly for the second time that day. Giry's jaw dropped slightly, undoubtedly surprised that Gabrielle was showing no regret or remorse. "I'll do precisely as he asks if that is going to prevent harm from coming upon myself, upon you, or upon the Opera Populaire. It has been my dream to come here, and even _he _will not stand in the way."

"You do not knowing what you're about to do," Giry said.

"I know _precisely _what I'm about to do," she retorted confidently. "Rehearse." Then, she stormed off to the stage again, Madame Giry a few steps behind her.

"Well, _finally _you arrived," Firmin said, spreading his arms grandiosely.

"Yes, I overslept a bit," Gabrielle sighed. "Meg can tell you how horrible a headache I had last night. But I'm feeling quite well now." She walked up to the stage.

"That's quite fortunate," Andre said. "Now, if it would suit you, would you please take the song from the top? I believe that we ought run through it as soon as possible."

Gabrielle froze in place as the music started playing, but felt herself start to loosen as the introductory chords waxed into the melody. She inhaled deeply and merely let her lips became a gate through which some sort of magic would pass…

Thinko f me, think of me fondly 

_When we've said goodbye_

_Remember me once in a while_

_Please, promise me you'll try_

_When you find that once again you long_

_To take your heart back and be free_

_If you ever find a moment_

_Spare a thought for me_

"Firmin, the girl's not terrible," Andre said, rubbing his chin. His co-owner merely nodded. The two men then looked at Madame Giry for her opinion.

"She is most definitely not terrible," she nodded. "Far better than I had first estimated."

_We never said our love was evergreen_

_Or as unchanging as the sea_

_But if you can still remember_

_Stop and think of me_

_Think of all the things we've shared and seen_

_Don't think about the way things might have been_

_Think of me, think of me waking_

_Silent and resigned_

_Imagine me trying too hard to put you from my mind_

_Recall those days; think back on all the times_

_Think of the things we'll never do_

_There will never be a day when I won't think of you_

Giry stood with her arms crossed, dumbstruck. She had hoped that the girl wouldn't be spectacular at all, that Erik would have found that he had _not _found another Christine, and that this new girl was nothing special. True, this girl sounded nothing like Christine, but she had something all her own—a tool that Erik, no doubt, would to desire to sculpt as his new masterpiece.

_Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade_

_They have their seasons, so do we_

_But please promise that sometimes, you will think_

Everyone took in a breath in anticipation, but released it when, with a beaming smile, Gabrielle executed the long trill with playful air, her head bobbing happily and exuberantly.

_Of me!_

"My god, Gabrielle, what were you thinking, not telling us you could sing that way?" Meg said, scurrying up to the stage excitedly. "That was beautiful."

"I suppose it was alright," she replied, blushing brightly.

"You might want to sing it louder," Firmin suggested gently, "I'm not sure your voice will carry the whole way with the weak acoustics of the theatre."

"Oh, yes," one of the choirgirls muttered loud enough for only Gabrielle to hear. "I'm not sure anyone would be able to hear you in, say, box 5."

"I'll be sure to practice then," Gabrielle said clearly. She wasn't about to be angered by the accusation behind the comment, not when she was so proud of having finally overcome her greatest fear. She felt that if her father had been among them that day, he would have been pleased.


	7. Satisfaction Brought Her Back

_Disclaimer: I own Gabrielle. That's all. Nothing's changed _

_Sorry that my chapters are so short...they get longer later. Right now, I'm trying to debate on an ending, seeing as I have first drafts written for almost every chapter except the last one. Happy ending? Sad ending? SEQUEL! Oh, the possibilities!_

_Thanks **kristinekat13, **and **Rancid Melody **for reviewing the last chapter._

* * *

The night arrived where Gabrielle was finally to make her public debut. She sat in the dressing room, biting her lip and staring at herself in the mirror. Her long dark hair was out of its usual queue, which was often the only way she would leave it. Now that it was down, it framed her face differently, and rendered her usually plain face nearly unrecognizable.

"Oh, you look absolutely mortified," Meg said, siting down next to her.

"Do I look all right?" she asked shakily.

"Absolutely," Meg said, smiling encouragingly.

"Honestly?" Gabrielle asked, turning her head to a few other angles, trying to look at her reflection from every side.

"You're absolutely gorgeous," Meg said. Then, she picked the blossom of a flower in a vase and tucked it into Gabrielle's hair. "For luck."

Gabrielle stood up and walked over to the stage entrance. Her entire performance seemed to pass in a blur. She could feel her face burning the whole time, and hardly could concentrate on singing, only on wondering whether or not her face looked like a ripe apple to the audience.

She was knocked out of this humbling stupor when she realized that the room had broken into applause. She smiled and took her bows, gracefully avoiding being hit by the flowers being thrown onstage to her. They had most definitely heard her this time. She had done well. But most of all, she was proud of having finally fulfilled her father's dream for her, even if just once.

Following the performance of _Hannibal, _the entire cast and the audience met in the lobby, where the musicians had situated themselves. Immediately, Gabrielle found herself being whisked around the entire dance floor, being presented with flowers every way she turned, and practically deafened by voices speaking congratulations and compliments.

"Tell me," said a familiar voice behind her as she felt someone tuck a small flower behind her ear, "Can you still spare a dance for your uncle now that you've become a prima donna?"

Gabrielle whirled around and squealed ecstatically. "Uncle Raoul! How did you—"

"I take a very special interest in the goings-on here at the Opera Populaire," he laughed, offering his arm for a dance.

"Oh," she said with smile, accepting his arm. "Well, I suppose this is the first truly interesting thing that has come out of this Opera House in quite a while,"

"You never told me you were so talented," he said as they began twirling and waltzing about the room. "How come?"

"I…" Gabrielle said. In that slight moment's pause, she decided that it was the time to begin being honest with him. "I wasn't ready for anyone else to know until now, I supposed. My father and I kept it a bit of a secret."

"You must have had quite a time trying to hide a voice like yours," he laughed, a gesture which Gabrielle performed as well. "I'm proud of you, you know." he pointed out.

"I'm rather proud of myself as well," she giggled. "And I'm glad you decided to come and watch."

They were not aware that they were being watched from above, up in a balcony, by Madame Giry, who received the night mixed emotions.

"A moment of your time, Giry." a voice said behind her.

"Erik…" she said, not needing to turn around. "I assume you were present for Mademoiselle Clairmont's performance tonight."

"Obviously." he replied shortly. "Why, may I ask, is the young Mademoiselle dancing with…Monsieur le Vicomte?" he said, spitting the last words out in disdain as he surveyed the scene below them as well. "I believe she is _my _pupil, and a such has no need to continue cavorting with the likes of him."

"She has refused your tutelage," she said carefully. "Can you not just let her be? She isn't Christine. She does not _need _an Angel of Music."

"WHAT, I repeat," he said through gritted teeth, "Is she doing with Monsieur le Vicomte?"

"You said it yourself. Dancing," Giry said. She could sense his annoyance with her response. "He's her uncle, Erik, the only family she has."

"I see," he replied, nodding in a token gesture of his comprehension. "Well, he oughtn't be giving her any ideas, even _if _they _are _family."

"I implore you, don't make any appearances here tonight. Give her, at the very least, one night's peace." Giry pleaded.

"We shall see," he said. And with that, he was gone.

Meanwhile, even now, Gabrielle and her uncle were still dancing, engaged in amusing conversation as though he had known her for her entire life.

"A talented singer, and now you're dancing." Raoul laughed. "You haven't stepped on my foot, even once. So, you're a dancer now? Tell me, do you fly as well?"

"I can't say I've tried," she giggled as the music stopped, and the guests began to leave. Gabrielle walked with her uncle to the door.

"So, you're doing well here?" he asked. "There have been no…problems, then?"

"Problems? No, none at all!" Gabrielle said matter-of-factly. "Everyone here is so wonderful, I'm actually glad I came."

"I'm glad to hear it." he said. "Adieu, then." He leaned over and kissed her on the cheek, whispering in her ear, "I believe you've always been my favorite niece."

"I'm your only niece," she laughed as he walked out the door. She stayed there and waved to him as he rode away in the coach. "Good night!" she yelled after him. As soon as he was out of sight, she walked back to her room and sat down.

Only now, when she was alone did she realize something. "_He_ hasn't come," she muttered to herself. Surely, if he'd seen her tonight, he'd have made an appearance to her, at least to make some comment on it. Unable to quell her curiosity, she decided that she only had one choice. Thinking up whatever excuse she could, she picked up the music box with the monkey and ran off, ducking through the shadows until she reached the lowest denizens of the theatre.

"Monsieur?" she called out. "Monsieur, are you here? I just came to return this."

"Silly girl," said a voice from over her shoulder. She didn't flinch, as she had grown accustomed to him appearing in this manner. "We've been in one another's presence for quite near a month. Do you really find it cordial to continue calling me 'monsieur'?"

"No, but I don't find it proper to call you anything else," she said more timidly. "Not to mention that I don't know of anything else to call you." She shrugged at the end of this statement, looking somewhere over his shoulder.

After a moment's pause, he said in a near-whisper, "Erik." It seemed to confuse him, after spending so much time without having another soul know another name by which to call him.

Gabrielle blinked at him and nodded. "Erik, then." She said with a tiny smile.

"Thank you…for returning this," he said, clearing his throat. Gabrielle just nodded obligingly once again, still averting her eyes. "Something vexes you, mademoiselle."

"Forgive me for sounding so overconfident," she muttered, looking down at the ground. "But I thought you'd have been there tonight, that's all. It _was_, after all, my first show here," She paused and looked at him questioningly, her wide bright eyes staring into his worn and tired ones. "I should leave."

"You're still curious," he said knowingly, placing a hand on the edge of his mask. Gabrielle's gaze was immediately fixated on that spot."You still want to know what you would have seen."

"No!" Gabrielle replied quickly. "No, of course not. I'm…I'm not that nosy…" She paused, gave a polite incline of her head and left.

_You little liar, _she thought to herself as she walked back to her room to retire for the night. _You want to know what's beneath that so badly. Not to mention that you're dreadfully disappointed that he didn't come to see you tonight._

"Ridiculous," she muttered to herself. She walked down to the kitchens and had a glass of water, cooling her flushed face. She calmly went back to her room, where she found another rose waiting for her. She smiled in spite of herself and opened the door. Immediately, she noticed that another letter was propped up against her vanity mirror. She eagerly ran over to read it.

_Gabrielle, _

_Your performance today pleased me. You need not question the fact that I was present. I expect nothing but the best from you, as I hope you are aware.  
O.G._


	8. The Price of Fresh Air

_Disclaimer: I own Gabrielle, and the other shady originals we meet in this chapter._

_Thanks **Allison** for dropping by and reviewing! New reviewers are a pleasant surprise. **Phantoms-angel1 **and** kristinekat13, **yes, Erik definitely has some jealousy issues, haha. I'll make sure to tell the fop to step off._

* * *

The day after her performance, Gabrielle decided to give life in the theatre a rest and venture out to see what more this bustling quartier of Paris had to offer. This certain part of Paris was certainly interesting, more of a Bohemian paradise than the bustling cityscape she had envisioned so frequently as a child. Many would have found the place unpleasant, but to Gabrielle, it was an Eden of discovery, ripe for the picking. Perhaps, growing up, her world had been a bit too small for a girl of such curiosity, but thise more than paid the reparations for that.

"Mademoiselle Clairmont?" someone called out. In a minute, a man selling flowers from a case on his back pushed through the crowd of people to see her.

"In the flesh," Gabrielle laughed, amused and flattered at the pains he was taking just to stand in front of her.

"The entire quartier's abuzz about your performance last night," he smiled. He pulled a bouquet of lilies from his cache and offered them to her. She smiled and accepted gratefully, then reached into her purse to pull out the payment. "Oh no, they're complimentary!" he exclaimed. Gabrielle looked at him with a questioning smile. "For…for bringing the Opera Populaire back to life!" he added quickly

"It won't last long," said one of the passersby. "Not as long as the ghost is still there."

Gabrielle rolled her eyes and walked away. That showed how much anyone in this outside world knew of the goings-on within the walls of the Opera Populaire. Or, perhaps, it showed how selective the inhabitants were of whose ears the word reached.

She soon found herself standing against the wall of the Opera Populaire, where she noticed an opening she had never noticed before. Glancing around to make sure no one was looking, she peered in side, and found that she recognized innards of the building that the she saw.

She lowered her head so that it was closer to the opening and said in a fairly low voice. "Monsieur…" she paused and corrected herself. "Erik?" There was no answer. Gabrielle wasn't surprised, knowing that he wouldn't answer to just anyone who happened to call for him. "Thank you…" she said in a hushed voice, not thinking to imply what she was thanking him for. She pulled one of the lilies from the bouquet that she had been given and dropped it inside.

Inside, Erik looked up as he heard someone whispering through the secret entrance, which, he had thought, only Madame Giry knew of. He noticed something falling from there into the water, right in front of him. He picked up the lily that had seemingly fallen from the sky, then back up at the window, just in time to catch a glimpse of the face of who stood there.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle had gotten back to exploring when she noticed a tent standing, off in the more dodgy-looking section of the community. Out of inevitable curiosity, walked over.

"Morning, mademoiselle," said the proprietor, a dirty, greasy-haired man with dark beady eyes and teeth so yellow, one had to question whether or not they were teeth at all. "Care to have a look inside?"  
"What is this place?" peering inside over his shoulder, still unable to see anything but a mass of dirt and cages, but hearing a commotion of shouts, laughter, and jeering.

"You've never been to a gypsy carnival before, have you?" he asked, smiling at her. She cringed at the view of all of his rotten teeth. The man was old enough to be called a rotting corpse, and had the stench to prove it. He must have been…what…a hundred years old?

"Can't say that I have," she said distastefully, her good graces the only thing that kept her from pinching her nose and running away.. _And if they all look like you, I'm lucky I haven't, _she added in her head. _Honestly, they mustn't know much of bathing…_

"Pity," he chuckled. "Never seen our greatest attraction. Called it the Devil's Child—"

"I'm listening," she said abruptly, remembering the words in a note that Erik had recently written to her…

_You'll find that they did not call me the Devil's Child without reason…_

"Oh, yeah," the old man chortled evilly. "You could beat that blasted creature to within and inch of its life, and it would just keep coming at you and clawing, thrashing about like a wild animal—"

"That's horrible!" Gabrielle cried out, her jaw dropping. It didn't take a genius to piece it all together.

"That's business," the man chuckled cruelly. Gabrielle stared at him with all of the disgust she could muster and turned on her heel, running the entire way back to the Opera Populaire. She ran in through the doors and shut her eyes, panting.

"Gabrielle?"

She opened her eyes and smiled through her heavy breathing. "Uncle Raoul!" she paused and glanced to his right. "Aunt Christine! This is…a surprise."

"Just coming to pay you a visit," Christine said with a painted-on smile, her eyes darting around overtly as though she were afraid of something. "You know, checking to make sure nothing…_funny…_is going on."

"Not at all," she said brightly. "Everything's splendid. Really."

Christine stared at her, and sensed an odd air about the girl…something that was oddly familiar. Raoul could tell that his wife didn't quite believe Gabrielle, but neither of them said anything.

"Well then," Christine said, clearing her throat delicately. "We'll be going then. Take care of yourself, all right?"

"Of course," Gabrielle said with a sincere smile.

"Promise." Christine said seriously. Gabrielle nodded unsurely. Christine and Raoul each gave Gabrielle a loving kiss on the cheek and left.

"What are you thinking about?" Raoul asked as he and his wife were back in the coach, safely on their way. Christine looked at him, calculation carefully what she was going to say.

"He's with her, Raoul," she said in a conspiratorial whisper. "He has her…" Raoul didn't need any clarification. He ran his hand through his hair and looked out the window. 'I'm sorry," Christine whispered. She knew very well that she had caused this in her desperation to be free. She hadn't truly expected it to work and admittedly felt a twinge of jealousy at the prospect. She had felt that she was the only one that the Phantom of the Opera would work his magic for…that _only she could make the music of the night…_

"My brother's child," he muttered, shaking his head. Christine suddenly felt extremely selfish, but at the same time was not willing to take back what she had done.

'She's stronger than I was." She said gently, taking her husband's large, strong hands into her soft, tiny ones. "She may prove more than we expect of her. Give her a chance."

Raoul looked up and stared into his wife's eyes. "Give…give _us _a chance," he muttered. Christine smiled demurely, and kissed him passionately on the lips. That was when it dawned on the both of them. This was their chance, now that there were no ghosts of a past life left to haunt Christine. Now, they could do all that they had dreamed of…they could live the life which a married couple should, without worrying about who may disapprove of their union. After three years of struggling through disdainful memories, they could breathe once again, and the fresh air seemed so much sweeter than they remembered.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle was finally beginning to have more probing questions of her own. She went up to Madame Giry, stepping in front of the older woman with an air of fire and authority. "What does my uncle have to do with Erik?" she demanded. "That's the only possible reason for them to be acting so oddly."

Giry stared at her oddly for a moment. "How do you know his name?"

"He told me," Gabrielle snapped in annoyance, waving dismissively, "Now Madame, please, answer my question."

"I've mentioned Miss Daae, haven't I?" Giry asked. Gabrielle nodded mutely. "Mademoiselle _Christine _Daae?" Gabrielle began nodding again, but froze in mid-motion. Giry looked at her and nodded in affirmation.

"So," she said in realization. "Now I see how it is. I knew he'd never have any good reason for wanting me," she muttered dejectedly.

"You should be glad," Giry said gently. "It means he won't take you…Besides, I thought you didn't believe in him."

"Of course I don't," Gabrielle laughed forcedly. "But you know me. You can never be too safe." She nodded, then scurried off, running to find Meg, who has happy to keep her company. The two spent the day chatting idly, until Gabrielle mentioned a more pressing topic.

"Tell me about my aunt," she requested of the older girl.

"Oh, Christine?" Meg said brightly, "Where to being? You remind me of her so much…" And that began the girl talking on and on, as Gabrielle was glad to listen.

At the end of the day, Meg noticed that Meg was following her to her bedroom.

"Meg: she asked once they reached the older girl's room. "Would you mind terribly if I stayed here/"

"No, of course I don't mind," she said. "Is something the matter?"

"I…" Gabrielle trailed and considered just going to her own room, but she couldn't bear the thought of it. "I guess I'm a little bit scared to be alone." She paused in an anxious stupor, both upon hearing the things she head herself say and awaiting her friends response to said things.

Meg stared at her and turned her head to the side. "Tell me the truth, Gabrielle." She said, making sure she didn't sound as though she was forcing the younger girl. "The Phantom, you've seen him." Gabrielle bit her lip and nodded. "Oh, dear," Meg said, embracing the younger girl,

"I'm hiding from him, Meg," she admitted. "He's using me, I know he is. He's pretending that I'm Christine. I…I don't want to be the victim in his little hunt." Gabrielle's head was spinning terribly. She didn't want to be used. Yes, it was true, she didn't want it, but what she truly desired…what that was…She clenched her eyes shut for a moment then looked back up with a pleading look in her eyes.

Meg nodded sympathetically and opened the door.

Thus began the grand effort between the two girls to keep Gabrielle out of the Phantom's clutches.

The next morning, Meg made very sure from the very first moment not to leave Gabrielle anywhere alone, but from the moment they awoke, they realized that avoiding the Phantom would be no easy task. When they opened the door to head outside for breakfast, they found a letter addressed to Gabrielle sitting on the ground. The two girls glanced at each other unsurely, and walked off, leaving the paper untouched.

Every so often, they would find more and more letters, and though Gabrielle was sincerely tempted, she passed right by every time. Thus began the attempt to evade the infamous phantom of the opera.


	9. Evitably Inevitable

**_DISCLAIMER:_** _You know this part, don't you?_

_Thanks to **Aubrey Daniels, kristinekat13, **and **Phantomsangel1 **for reviewing, and sorry for the delay on this chapter. _

* * *

Madame Giry was heading back to her quarters late one evening, nearly two weeks after Gabrielle had begun ignoring the Phantom's letters. She had just finished supervising the ballet classes and was ready to call it an evening when what seemed to be a wisp of wind blew behind her…She knew all too well what that meant.

"Giry," said a gruff, slightly raspy voice behind her, whispering dangerously close to her ear. She didn't need more than one guess to know who it was.

"I'm listening," she said, acknowledging his presence.

He grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around to face him. "I've been finding _these_," he said in mild disgust, brandishing a pile of letters addressed to Gabrielle. "Unopened." For a moment, the two stared one another down, the woman's gaze flicking back and forth between Erik and the letters.

"Perhaps you've just neglected to send them," Giry said dismissively. He glared at her.

"I know that you're behind this somehow, Giry," he hissed, giving the letters another threatening flick in the older woman's face. "I demand you tell me _how_."

"I only told her the truth of what you want from her," Giry said, turning her head up.

"Oh?" he chuckled in grim disdain. "And what, pray tell, _do _I want from the girl?"

"No one in this place is blind," Giry reasoned. "We all know. You're only after that girl because she is the closest you can have to Christine now. Don't make this girl the victim of _your _shortcomings, Erik—"

He shuddered at being called by his first time, an informality that he was quite unaccustomed to. "I came for her before I knew who she was, Giry. Consider that."

Once again, he was gone.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle was walking back towards the bedchambers, and to her own door after a long day of _attempting _to learn to dance. She had refrained from singing for what seemed to be the longest time, not wanting to attract any _undesired _attention. She practically pranced over the carpeted hallway, wanting only to get those blasted toe-shoes off of her aching _pieds_ and throw herself onto the bed.

"This is most definitely not my calling," she whined, walking gingerly upon her sore feet. "Honestly, I don't see how you do it." She put her hand on the door to her own room.

"Where are you going?" Meg asked. She had grown accustomed to, and really quite fond of, having Gabrielle as a guest in her room, sleeping on Meg's daybed.

"I think I'll stay in my own room tonight," she sighed. "I haven't gotten a single letter in more than a week. I think he's gotten the blasted point."

"Well," Meg said hesitantly, biting her lower lip in contemplation. She had grown rather close to Gabrielle and wanted to make sure she was safe. "If you're sure that nothing's going to go wrong,"

"I'm completely sure," Gabrielle said confidently. She opened the door and shut it behind her. She got herself into her nightgown and stood in front of her mirror, brushing her hair. Something seemed to move, like a ripple or a shadow, and Gabrielle flinched, blinking harshly. "Odd," she muttered. "I could have sworn—" She let out a shrill squeak when someone grabbed her by the shoulder and spun her around. "You!" she snapped, her mind registering immediately upon seeing the white porcelain mask.

She immediately ran for the door, trying to open it, only to find that even from inside it wouldn't give an inch. She began jolting the handle, tugging at it furiously. When she resigned to the fact that she would be going nowhere, she turned around to face her guest, eyes narrowed.

"You will not leave." he said simply.

"I'll be damned if I don't try," she growled, still trying to open the door. Suddenly, she felt something tighten around her wrist, and she was pulled harshly until she was on her knees in front of him. She looked down and saw the bristly rope of his Punjab lasso tightly around her wrist. Unwilling to be lowered to such a servile level, she stood up and glared at him directly in the eye. He loosened the rope and let it fall.

"Why do you run?" he asked as if he was speaking to a misbehaving child.

"I won't have you controlling me, manipulating me into believing that I have a purpose," she said coldly. "God knows that the only purpose I serve to you is to replace a woman that you can never have."

"I would have come for you, regardless," he said stonily, his cold eyes boring into hers. No matter how hard she tried to mask it, her eyes were filled with a certain inextricable warmth. Surely, with those eyes, she couldn't fool anyone into believing that she was the least bit malicious. "I came to claim you before I knew who you were. You will no longer question me, Miss Clairmont, is that clear?" He grabbed her by her upper arm and glared at her even harder.

"I will continue to question you as long as I deem appropriate," she said, the quiver in her voice evident.

"You will _not _question me." he repeated fiercely.

"What am I to you?" she snapped, trying futilely to pry her arm away. "A new conquest, another trophy?"

"A second chance," he said simply.

"Precisely," Gabrielle growled. "I see your game now. You think that if you can break me this time, you've made up for failing before." She threw her arm hard, finally getting loose from his grip long enough to get away, heading for the door, only to find that he grabbed her other wrist and pulled her back, grasping her by both shoulders and giving her no chance of escape.

"Did I not direct you not to go anywhere?" he said coldly.

"WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME?" she hissed. "You despicable—"

He cut her off by pulling her close and kissing her harshly, so hard that his lips nearly drew blood from hers. Gabrielle pulled her face away and looked down at the floor.

"I will own you." he growled, pushing her away so that she fell onto her daybed, and sweeping back into shadow.

Gabrielle put her fingertips up to her sore lips and stared off blankly. She wouldn't be getting any sleep tonight. Instead, the same she would be asking herself the same question over and over…_Is this what I wanted?_

A million times, she asked herself, interrogated herself about what she really had _thought _would come of trying to be on her own again. And every time, she gave herself the same answer.

_Of course I wanted it at some level…_

She recalled the anger and annoyance in Erik's face, and upon remembering, she recognized the pain and fear he had wanted to instill in her with that single action.

…_but not like this._

* * *

"Gabrielle?" Meg said, knocking on the locked door the next morning. "They want to see all of the performers. It might be another rehearsal."

"I'm not going to sing anymore," Gabrielle said shakily.

"What?" Meg asked. "Gabrielle, but I thought—"

"I want to. I really want to," she said quietly. "But every time I do, _he _has more and more reasons, more and more chances to watch me."

"Gabrielle," Meg said sympathetically. The door of the room opened, and a very sleepy looking Gabrielle stepped out. The two young ladies began walking silently towards the stage until Gabrielle finally said something.

"If this keeps going," she began. "I don't think I'll be able to stay here anymore."

"That's insane," said a male voice behind them. The two girls turned around and saw a young man, one which neither of them knew. "The Opera Populaire is on its last leg," he continued. "What do you thinks going to happen if the lose to only one keeping it standing?"

"Do I…know you?" Gabrielle asked, raising an eyebrow lightly. True, the boy did look familiar, but she couldn't precisely place it.

"Forgive me," he said with a charming smile. "My name's Anton Fouinard. We met in the town plaza recently…I gave you the flowers?"

_Now _she remembered…the boy with the case around his neck, the flower vendor. "Oh, you work here now?" she asked politely.

"Ah!" Meg said, "I remember my mother saying something about a new setbuilder."

"That'd be me," he said graciously with a slight bow. He looked at and addressed Gabrielle again. "You know, if you leave, you wouldn't get nearly as many complimentary flowers," he smirked, walking away. Gabrielle smiled back slightly, watching in what she considered and inconspicuous manner as Anton walked away. Thinking that she was being completely inconspicuous, she let out a small sigh.

"You fancy him," Meg whispered knowingly. Gabrielle whirled around to face the older girl and rolled her eyes.

'Don't be so silly," she scoffed, all the while still glancing back over her shoulder. "I'm seventeen, and ha can't be much older. What am I supposed to do? It's not as if I'm sinning. This is an opera house, not a nunnery." Meg just kept that same small smile on her face. "Don't look at me like that," Gabrielle groaned.

"He's handsome," Meg replied simply.

"Oh, hush," Gabrielle laughed, grabbing her friend by the wrist. They then continued hurrying over to the main lobby, where Madame Giry, Firmin, and Andre at a table. "Madame, Messieurs," Gabrielle nodded gracefully. "What are we going to be performing next?"

"We haven't clue," Andre replied with a harumph.

"You took me out of bed for nothing," Gabrielle laughed, pushing Meg playfully. She scurried out of the room and was heading towards her own chamber when she noticed that the door next to hers was open. She peered inside and saw Anton lying on his stomach on a bed, looking intently at something. "Monsieur Anton," she said.

"Mademoiselle Clairmont, we meet again," he laughed. "It appears as though we're neighbors."

"What's that?" she asked, striding over and looking at the paper he was staring at.

"This?" he said, slightly abashed. "Oh, nothing. Just a bit of schoolwork. It's rather hard, actually."

"May I?" she asked, gesturing to the paper. Anton nodded. She picked it up and began reading, realizing that it was a list of medical terms. "You want to be a doctor." she said in realization. "Why don't you have a schoolbook? You might need one for this."

"I couldn't afford one," he said, sounding even more humbled than before.

"I could help," she suggested, sitting down next to him. "When my father was still sick, I had to learn from the nurses, in case anything had happened."

For about two hours, the two sat there, while Gabrielle recited what she knew of medicine, feeling quite important as she did so. From down the hall, Madame Giry heard their voices speaking, and rushed over, standing rather ominously in the doorway. "Gabrielle, what are you doing in here?" she snapped.

"Helping Anton with his schoolwork," she said dismissively. Helping _Anton_. Not _Monsieur Fouinard, _or even _Monsieur Anton_, she had just referred to him by his first name. "What's wrong with that?"

"You have no time," Madame Giry snapped shortly, making Gabrielle blink. "The _prima donna_ has no time little romantic liaisons"

"Romantic liaisons?" she interrupted. "I was helping him study, madame, why are you"

"Enough." She snapped. "I will not keep you from seeing Monsieur Fouinard." Gabrielle was rather taken aback by the usually strict old woman's submission. "_Provided _that you don't give him the impression that you care for him."

Gabrielle furrowed her eyebrows. True, she _didn't _particularly care for Anton in such a way, but for Giry to even suggest that she controlled her… "Perhaps I do," she retorted, crossing her arms. "You're no one to say that I can't."

"You. Do. Not." Madame Giry said. "Do not try to play these games, mademoiselle. You incited _his _presence here, and it will be you who takes the responsibility." She stared into the younger girl's eyes, but found now recession or remorse. "I wash my hands of this entire affair." She said abruptly and stormed away.

Gabrielle stood there, stunned, for a good ten seconds. Then, as it dawned upon her what Giry had just said, she shook her head and ran, storming furiously up the stairs to the roof. She stood at the edge, overlooking an alleyway where there were no people. She looked up to the sky and began yelling loudly as though she had gone mad, as if she expected someone beyond the clouds to be able to hear her.

"Why!" she cried out. "I just wanted things to be simple now, and I couldn't even have that? What else do you" she let out a shrill cry as, in her fury, she lost her footing, and slipping rather quickly onto the edge, holding on by only her fingertips to the low fencing that surrounded the roof. "Help!" she yelled. She kicked her feet, trying to find a crevice in the side of the wall where she could regain her footing, but found no help. "Someone, help!"

Suddenly, like vines shooting out from nowhere, two leather-gloved hands reached out and grabbed hers. She looked up. "Erik…" she mouthed silently as he began pulling her up. But her hand found little grip in his. "I'm slipping!" she said, her voice shaking and on the verge of tears.

"Perhaps if you didn't panic, perhaps your hands wouldn't be sweating," he growled through gritted teeth, trying still to pull her up to safety. "Stop. Panicking!"

"I'll be done panicking when I'm done falling!" she sobbed openly now. Despite the situation, the masked figure allowed himself a small smile. _Her life is in peril, and still that mouth prevails, _he thought, the smirk curling at his lips in undue and inappropriate amusement. Finally, he pulled her over the edge, and placed her, more gently than normal, onto the ground of the roof. She wiped furiously at her eyes and breathed heavily.

"Note to self," Erik muttered, shaking out his arms and panting with equal breathlessness. "You must teach that girl to keep her balance." He turned back to Gabrielle. "You're all right, then?"

"why did you save me?" she asked abruptly. Erik stared at her as though she had gone absolutely mad. "You heard me. If I'm just a replacement, why do you go to such pains to watch over me?"

"You will take care to _listen _when I speak." He said in annoyance. "I've already told you, you are _no _replacement. I set my sights on you before I knew who you were. In fact, your connection to Miss Daae"He cut himself off there, and a sudden pained expression flashed across his face. "Madame _de Chagny—_would make you an undesirable candidate for my attention." He paused here, and Gabrielle stared speechlessly. "Unfortunately for you," he continued, "I intend to see this endeavor through until I am satisfied."  
"Right…" she muttered, still sitting on the floor. He turned to walk away when he realized that he did not hear any footsteps following him away. "Why aren't you getting up?" he asked, turning back to her.

"I…" Gabrielle scrunched up her face, as though she did not desire to admit what she was going to say. "I _can't_."

Erik tapped his foot, then began walking over to her. "Must I do everything for you, woman?" he said shortly, picking her up with one arm holding up her knees, the other supporting her back. "We can't have you falling onstage."

"Oh, _absolutely _not," she snapped, partially in sarcasm and partially in annoyance. He began carrying her down through the hallways as the sun was setting. They heard footsteps coming around a corner nearby, and hid in an alcove in the wall. A boy with rather disheveled hair and a young face passed by.

"Who is that?" Erik snapped in suspicion. Gabrielle craned her neck to look over his shoulder—the position in which they stood left him facing the wall, with her face less than twp inches from his.

"Anton," she whispered. "Yes, that's him. He's the new setbuilder."

"I don't recall requesting a new setbuilder." He said. He was unable to turn his head, knowing that he would hit Gabrielle. That left him with only one possible way to hold his head, his nose nearly brushing her cheek as she continued to peer over his shoulder. "Honestly," he muttered, slightly disconcerted by the near contact. "I can't even control who comes in and out of my opera house."

"Hm." Gabrielle muttered noncommittally. She moved her face slightly, and jumped slightly when she found her eyes meeting his. She pulled her neck back slightly as their noses were slightly brushing.

_He's so close…_she thought.

Without realizing it was happening, her face slowly filled the small space in between them, her lips chastely brushing against his. He didn't move, out of the utter surprise of the moment. He wasn't sure whether or not to react at all…before he had the opportunity to decide, she pulled away and turned her head carefully, the newly-acquired flush on her cheeks highlighted by the twilight.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. For what seemed an eternity, they stood there in silence. Then, Erik peered back over his shoulder.

"I think we're safe to go now." He said, clearing his throat. Gabrielle nodded mutely. They went at a feverish pace to her chambers, where he practically just dropped her on her bed and ran off into the darkness.

"My _god_!" Gabrielle groaned, throwing her head back into her pillow in exasperation. "What have I done? This is insane."  
she muttered, her eyes glancing around the room. "I should be packing my things and running away. Not harboring some futile infatuation with…with…" She shook her head and forced herself to sleep.

Meanwhile, Erik had found his way to an adjacent hallway, where he seemed to materialize in front of Madame Giry.

"It's something about the girl: Giry said knowingly. "If it is, don't bother. She's no longer my concern."

"And why is that?" he asked, crossing his arms ominously.

"She's nothing but a foolish little girl. You own her, whether she admits or not." Giry said in a pacifying tone. She looked up, and realized that this was not a satisfactory response. "She refuses to acknowledge the fact that her amiability with our new porter boy allows him to harbor ideas which are, in a word, undesirable."

"That's it." Erik muttered. "She thinks she's undesirable…"

"Erik?" she said.

"She kissed me, Giry," he said, unconsciously bringing a gloved hand up to his face. "She kissed me…and she apologized for it." He noticed the odd expression which Giry was giving him and cleared his throat, regaining his normal cool, collected state of being. "We'll not have our Prima Donna so underconfident, is that understood? You will apologize to her, and by the next rehearsal, we will have a confident leading lady. Is that perfectly clear?'

Madame Giry raised her eyebrows, but nodded. "Perfectly." She said. "A _confident _leading lady is what we shall have."


	10. Then We Shall Try Again

_**DISCLAIMER: **PoTO belongs to ALW, Leroux, Kay, et al. Gabrielle belongs to me. Psh. What a trade, huh?_

_Nice little review replies at the bottom, if it's of any interest, but for now, ON WITH THE SHOW!_

* * *

The next day, whereupon Meg came across Gabrielle in the hallways, she noticed an odd limp in her friend's step. She walked cautiously up to her. "Why are you walking so slowly?"

"I…I slipped in the bath," she said quickly. "Silly me, slipping all the time."

"Poor dear," she said, offering her shoulder for Gabrielle to lean on, "Here, let me help you. They want to see us at the main stage." Gabrielle refused the help and forced herself to walk more normally. When they reached the doorway to the theatre, they heard what sounded like a high pitched shrieked…nearly like someone was in pain.

"Dear _god_," Gabrielle said with a wince as the sound echoed through the concave walls of the grand theatre. "What in the world is that noise?"

"Signora Carlotta!" Meg exclaimed in surprise. Gabrielle looked up and saw a slightly older woman, standing akimbo on the stage. Obviously, that _noise _had been her singing. Gabrielle looked at Madame Giry, searching for clarification.

"We need a more _experienced _woman to play our lead roles," Giry explained. "A more _confident _woman. You attracted a new audience's attention, now we must do all that's within our power to keep it. That's why I have recommended La Carlotta's return."

Carlotta had a very arrogant smile on her overly-painted face, and she looked at Gabrielle with very obvious disregard. Though she discreetly took offense to this, Gabrielle kept up her pleasant attitude. "Good for you!" she said, passing quite well as sincere. "I knew you'd see sooner or later that I wasn't exactly the best girl to thrust into the limelight."

"Good 'eavens…" Carlotta said in an Italian accent that had not at all been missed in the theatre. "This is the girl you've 'a replace'a me with? She doesn't look'a like a soprano. Too _bulky_!"

"Because I'm _not_," she said matter-of-factly.

"Then run along, little girl," Carlotta said snidely. "Mame Giry will fetch you when'a we need a _chorus girl_ or something."

Gabrielle smiled snidely and stormed off as well as she could back to her room. Not bothering to close the door behind her, she picked up one of the pillows on her bed and threw it on the floor, screeching loudly, "That _wench!_"

"Something the matter, prima donna?" someone asked from the doorway. She turned around and saw Anton resting his elbow on her doorjamb and looking inside. "You seem a bit off."

"Not prima donna anymore," she sighed, sitting down on her bed. "It seems as though I've been replaced by someone with a bit more…expertise."

"What?" Anton snapped, genuinely caught by surprise. "By who?"

"Signora Carlotta."

"What?" Anton said loudly. "God, that horrible Italian woman? You're joking, aren't you? But…why?"

"Like I said," Gabrielle said calmly, though she relished the fact that Anton was acting as upset as she wished she could. "They wanted someone who had experience, and I don't fit the description."

"This place is going to close down without you," Anton said drearily.

"I wouldn't go that far—"

"I would." Anton interrupted. "They'll see where they've gone wrong eventually. Don't get used to lurking around backstage." He smiled, and left, shutting her door behind him.

For about ten seconds, Gabrielle stared at the closed door, smiling rather airily at where Anton last stood, only phased back into reality when a voice spoke from behind her.

"Are you enjoying playing games, mademoiselle?" Erik asked in annoyance. She turned around and stared at him questioningly. "H'oh, those doe eyes again! Did you think it would be that easy?"

"What are you talking about?" she asked, narrowing her brown eyes so that tiny lines of frustration bunched slightly at the top of her nose.

"You actually think you can have two men fooled, then?" he snapped. "And before you come of age, nonetheless!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," she repeated adamantly.

"You little siren!" he hissed, grabbing her wrist and making her stand so that she was situated right in front of him. "You think that if you use your dirty little tricks, you can romance the _Phantom of the Opera_, and you get to see what's under the mask—"

Gabrielle looked scandalized as she pulled her wrist away, cradling it slightly. "I would never—"

"_I would never!_" He mimicked mockingly. "You already have! You've made your little attempts to solve the mystery of what lies beneath _this_!" he gestured emphatically at the white mask on his face.

"Never _again, _then." she said adamantly. "Never."

"Oh, really?" he hissed, grabbing her wrist again, but this time, he placed her palm over his mask and stared fiercely at her, his eyes two shallow pools of darkness, like the deepest ocean. "Do it!" he said furiously. "Go on, you know you're dying to!"

"I won't." she said stonily, drawing herself up defiantly.

"You're afraid." he said in a low tone.

"I respect you." she replied simply. At first, he seemed unable to respond to this, but after regaining his composure, he also regained his threatening attitude.

"You think I'll kill you if you see. Is that it?" he growled in a low voice.

"I won't do it." she repeated, as though it had become her mantra.

"Why?" he yelled in inexplicable fury. "What do you think you have to gain? What do you want from this _carcass_? I suppose when you kissed me out of pity—"

"Is that the point of all this?" she asked calmly, gently pulling her hand away from his face now. "If that's it, I wasn't thinking clearly. I apologize for it, if I offended you."

"What man on earth is offended by a kiss?" he scoffed.

"What man on earth isn't disgusted by an undesirable woman…" she muttered. Erik looked at her, but deigned it wisest not to reply, though he felt so strongly that he ought have. Instead, in the fashion that Gabrielle had grown so accustomed to, he merely disappeared.

Meanwhile, Madame Giry walked into the room and saw Gabrielle standing idly, staring intently at one spot which was at the moment unoccupied.

"What are you doing?" she asked. Gabrielle turned and looked at her.

"Nothing." she replied vaguely. 'I'm not doing anything." She cleared her throat, and focused her gaze. "Besides, even if I had been, it would hardly be of any concern to you, would it?"

"Do you have any objections to us bringing Carlotta back?" she asked, trying to sound unconcerned with what Gabrielle's answer would be. "I realize it was an abrupt decision."

"No, not at all," Gabrielle said. "Besides, what would it matter? I thought you…what did you say? Oh yes, _washed your hands _of the entire affair."

"What's the matter?" Giry asked, cockin her head to the side.

"You ought to know," Gabrielle said disdainfully. "You're the ring leader in this little circus. You, my _darling uncle, _Christine…You wanted to send me here, drive me mad, _didn't _you? Well, I'm miserable and irredeemably crazy. Are you quite satisfied?"

"I haven't planned anything." Giry defended.

"Oh, so I suppose everything just feel so perfectly into place?" she said sardonically. "How much did you pay _monsieur le fantome _to pretend that he wanted me?"

Giry was speechless. Two or three times, she made to speak, but could not articulate herself in quite the correct words.

"Get out." Gabrielle said quietly, turning her back on the older woman. Giry obliged, once again closing the door behind her. "You were a fool to believe…" Gabrielle said to herself. "A damn fool."

Later in the day, Giry requested that Gabrielle come down for a meeting with herself and Messieurs Firmin and Andre. Gabrielle, not wanting to let herself appear more of a diva than she was, obliged. When she arrived, she sat at the opposite end of a table from Giry, the managers, and, to her disdain, Carlotta. The room seemed to have obtained an ethereal glow from the lights in the center of the table, possibly foretelling the unexpected message which was to come.

Firmin began reading a letter in his hands out loud, occasionally looking up to weigh his companions' reactions.

_Fondest greetings to all,_

_Let us exempt ourselves from the usual niceties and proceed to business, shall we? Your next opera will be Don Juan Triumphant. Mademoiselle Clairmont will be cast as Aminta, despite your blatant denial of her capability as the leading lady. The part of Don Juan will be sung by yours truly, as my last attempt in casting another in the role resulted in an utter disaster. Failure to comply will be…highly unappreciated._

_O.G._

_Post Script: Your first rehearsal will be tomorrow. Attached is the remainder of my casting, and all decisions are final unless passed through the proper channels. Be sure that all actors are prepared to sing without scripts for rehearsal_

"Me?" Gabrielle said, once they had finished reading the letter. "That won't be possible. I think he's made a mistake."

"Apparently not." Andre said, handing her a copy of the script. "I suggest you get to work." He, Firmin, and Carlotta stood, prepared to leave the room.

"We won't get through the entire thing," Carlotta said scathingly. "We never have."

Gabrielle sat there for minutes, reading over her part in the script. When she looked up, she saw that Giry was still there. "Madame, this is too much." she said simply.

"You wanted it," Giry pointed out.

"No, I didn't!"

"You will learn your lines, no questions asked." she replied, and with that, she swept out of the room. Then, having heard everything, Anton stepped inside.

"I'll help you," he suggested. "Give me the script, and I'll help you remember the lines."

"Oh, Anton, thank you, thank you, thank you!" she said ecstatically. "You saved my life!"

Suddenly, the task seemed far less daunting with someone else's help...though it was quite clear that _Monsieur Fouinard _was not the one who the role was intended for.

* * *

_**To my uber awesome reviewers...**_

_**Ophira Holmes**, confidence boosts are always good! hugs. You're cool! _

_**LoneWolf2005, **Haha, Gabrielle definitely is stubborn, but it's fun writing characters that way. _

_**Beautiful Screams of Heartache**__you saw it in San Francisco? I'm from there! Aw, I wish I could have seen it! Anyhoo, I'm glad you like my characterization of Erik. I was a bit iffy about it myself, because...i dunno, does Erik seem too nice in this story? Be brutal! And I'll try to be more descriptive, but it's just so much fun writing the dialogue, sometimes it slips my mind. Must concentrate!_

_**Angeloftheoperahouse, **yes, Giry was definitely off, and she might still be portrayed sort of...funky. I definitely have to delve into her character more, but I've never been too fond of her...le sigh._


	11. The Makings of a Diva

_**DISCLAIMER:** PoTO belongs to ALW, Leroux, Kay, et al. Gabrielle belongs to me. Psh. What a trade, huh?_

_Review replies at the bottom...I may make a habit of this! And sorry that this chapter is short. But if I added in the next section, it would have made the chapter too long, so I had to break it up a bit._

* * *

The rehearsals for Don Juan Triumphant began as planned. It was a rather hodge-podge excuse for a rehearsal: the dancers were a mess, and the singers merely stood, or paced around the stage as they sang. They did not have any costumes yet. Carlotta, who had been cast in the male role of Passarino, was wearing an oversized pair of riding breeches, and whined incessantly.

"MAH!" she would cry out when she felt that _the composer _could not hear her. "_La Carlotta _does not play _men_!"

Gabrielle, the production's Aminta, made due with a red dress she had found in the costume closet. The only one who had dressed for their part even remotely was Erik.

"That was satisfactory," he said boredly after running through the entire thing once standing in the foyer. "But you, _Signora_," he said disdainfully to Carlotta. "Cannot keep that blank expression on your face the entire time. We will do this again, on the stage."

He swept into the main theatre, with everyone else shuffling along after him.

"That won't be possible." Carlotta said haughtily. "We 'aven't done any blocking."

He turned around and glared at her, causing everyone to jump backwards slightly. "Did I not specifically state that you were to be prepared?" he said in a low voice.

"Monsieur, please," Meg said quietly from her place among the other dancers. "We thought we were ready. You never said—"

"_Very well_," he snapped. "We shall _improvise…_" He glared pointedly at Carlotta. "And you, _Passarino, _had best hope that I do not step on your clumsy feet." Gabrielle laughed slightly, knowing full well that it was she who had the tendency to slip at the most inopportune times, and not Carlotta. Erik glanced at her slightly, and quite nearly smiled before he steadied himself.

Their second run-through on stage went fairly well, apart from a few bumped elbows, up until the end of the first act, the meeting between Aminta and Don Juan. Madame Giry, who had been supervising the entire thing, felt compelled to take Gabrielle away before that scene, but knew it would not be possible.

_Passarino, go away, for the trap is set, and waits for his prey…_

Gabrielle looked up, suddenly enthralled by the voice she heard as though she did not know its source. With every note and every line, she became further and further swallowed up by the sheer power lying beneath Erik's voice. For at least that moment, she _was _Aminta. It did not matter that she had immersed herself in fiction, only that this fiction had consumed her mind…

_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry…_

_To that moment when speech disappear into silence…silence…_

She looked directly into the eyes of her Don Juan as she sang, and they truly did improvise their movements, moving across the unfurnished set in a game of cat and mouse, ending their serenade with their hands intertwined. The scaffolding and loose floorboards seemed to disappear, as the scene, by all other means, was exactly as it should have been.

Erik cleared his throat and stepped away. "Better." he said, giving a curt nod. "You, Mademoiselle Clairmont, have at least come to take your role seriously. The rest of you will rehearse every day until I am satisfied. Back to work"

Gabrielle was about to walk away and join the rest of the cast when he took a hold on the crook of her arm, more gently than usual. "You, Gabrielle, will rehearse with me." He swept her off with him so that they were standing in her room, away from the remainder of the cast's hustling to following his orders.

"Sing." he said simply as he shut the door behind them.

"Excuse me?" she asked, her eyes widening. "_Again_?"

"You will be singing _my opera_. Therefore, you will be perfect." he said bluntly. Gabrielle nodded in comprehension and opened her mouth. The voice which she let out was still the same she always had, but lacked any passion as her eyes were locked inextricably to the floor. "To me, not your slippers." Erik chided. Gabrielle looked up, and now her eyes wandered, drifting to rest anywhere but on Erik, but her voice sounded no different. Erik looked rather impatient for a moment, listening to his young protégée with a pained expression. "Tell me, are you just trying to be considerate of Signora Carlotta's feelings?" he snapped suddenly. Gabrielle stopped singing and looked at him, not sure what to make of his question. "You're holding back."

"No, I'm not!" Gabrielle retorted. "I'm doing the best I can!"

"You _think _you are." He said simply. "But you can do far better. I've _heard _you do far better. Come here." He took her by the hand and led her in front of the large mirror in her room. He wrapped one arm around her so that his palm put pressure on her abdomen. His other hand tilted her chin upward. "Look yourself in the eye." Gabrielle did as she was told, not sure whether or not to relish his touch or recoil from it. Instead, she stared intently at her reflection, filled now with an urge to prove herself.

"I don't see the point of this." She said weakly.

"Do it." He said flatly. Gabrielle conceded, tilting her chin up with a fair amount of annoyance and resentment. "Very good. Now, sing."

Gabrielle inhaled deeply, more deeply than she had before, then let her voice venture forth from the place where Erik placed his hand. She continued, barely recognizing the sound, even less so believing that it came from her.

"Better." He replied simply, pulling his hands away.

"Thank you," she muttered, her gaze downcast once again.

"You're thinking of something." He stated, rounding on her once again. "You know by now that you do _not _hide anything from me."

"I'm not hiding anything." Gabrielle said. Her voice sounded lower now, more dismal than it had ever sounded before.

"You do not _lie _to me either." He said knowingly. "You don't die from asking questions, you know."

"Of course I know that. You die from getting the answers to questions you shouldn't have asked in the first place." She retorted. There was silence for a while, as neither of them could find an appropriate way to continue. "Why are you like this?" she finally asked.

"I don't know what on earth you're talking about." He said stonily.

"Monsieur," she said gently, "You told me that I was to be completely honest with you. If you would only do the same, that would be enough to be getting on with."

"What have I told you about calling me 'monsieur?'" he asked. Gabrielle allotted herself a short laugh at this. "I believe…that this is quite enough for today."

* * *

_Sorry that I might not reply to all my reviewers. Just keep reviewing, though! Hee._

_**Ophira Holmes, **I've always been amused by how Carlotta acted, especially when she's flaunting herself over her competition. If she wasn't so darn annoying, she'd be my hero, haha._

_**Diana-Lupin, **Glad you like my Erik so far...and how he reacts to Anton...Are you a Harry Potter fan, by any chance? Just judging by your username, hee._

_**Angeloftheoperahouse, **little too much java? It's all good. Nothing wrong with a tiny spot of caffeine once in a while. I write my best on a caffeine high! haha._

_**KensDragonet, **I've followed your instructions and update! Don't hurt me! _

_**An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, **i love your username! Anyhoo, yeah, Gabrielle does clash with Erik quite a bit, doesn't she?_

_**Marianne Brandon, **I love trying to write notes from Erik, and that last one was the funnest to write, because it's so similar to the ones in the musical/movie._

_Ta, lovers!_


	12. The Replacement

_**DISCLAIMER: **I own Gabrielle, Anton, and my new original plotline for Don Juan Triumphant!_

* * *

Preparing for the performance of Don Juan Triumphant proved to be no easy task for anyone, due in part to the opera itself. In the second act Don Juan's, right hand man, Passarino, and Aminta were to have a romantic duet, which they had never had to perform in front of an audience before. Needless to say, it was impossible to even force the necessary chemistry to happen between Gabrielle and Carlotta, for obvious reasons.

Carlotta, not at all in character, refused to even lay a hand on Gabrielle, unless it was to push the younger girl out of the way. Gabrielle, however, displayed maturity just as long as she could, resisting the urge to elbow the diva back. Still, when working with la Carlotta, it was impossible to hold your tongue forever.

"She's not even'a trying!" Carlotta whined shrilly. "Honestly, she's 'orrible! How can anyone stand to listen to that squealing she's doing?" She gestured lazily toward the younger girl. "It's impossible for us to work together." Gabrielle gritted her teeth, spun on her heel, and faced the managers.

"I have to concur with Carlotta, gentlemen," she said, looking at Firmin and Andre. "And this is completely ridiculous, giving Carlotta this part! She can't play Passarino! It's a male role!"

"Yes, and it's not silent, either," Anton pointed out as he was working on a prop, standing atop a scaffold. Gabrielle looked up and laughed, in spite of her current fuming.

"Besides," she added, ignoring Carlotta's affronted squeals. "She's understudying for me, and that's a job within itself!"

"Then what do you propose?" Firmin groaned, rolling his eyes. For once, he wished that Erik _would _arrive, just to exert his authority upon these now rather disorganized cast members. Already, the dancers and chorus members were distracted from their rehearsing, beginning to circle around and jostle amongst themselves for an ideal view of the ruckus. Their chaotic rustling about surprised the managers to no end. They had expected that the constant presence of the Opera Ghost would be some incentive to _behave_. But they were all merely naïve opera brats, invincible to fear until it was pounded into them.

Come to think of it, the Opera Ghost's presence itself came as a surprise. But things had changed since the glory days of the Opera Populaire, as had the man who had created it. Now, there was really no sense hiding when everyone knew where your hiding place was, was there?

'Perhaps we can just find _another _Passarino?" Meg piped up from her spot among the other dancers in the corps du ballet, who were waiting in the wings.

"Monsieur Fouinard could do it!" Gabrielle interjected brightly. "He knows the lines and everything! He's been helping me with my lines for the entire time." She paused, looking at the managers, who seemed to seriously be considering the possibility.

"He's definitely more believable in the role, especially the costume!" Meg added, coming to her friend's defense. Carlotta stood, gaping at whether or not she was pleased with this or not.

Firmin and Andre discussed with one another for another long, excruciating minute, then looked at Anton, who stood, rather dumbfounded, still on the scaffold. Firmin cleared his throat. "Well, let's see how he does, then," he said.

Anton hurried down the ladder, staring in confusion at Gabrielle who smiled, half coyly and half apologetically.

"From the top of the duet, then," Andre said.

Whatever awkward discomfort that had been there with Carlotta performing now disappeared. What the duet lacked in all around vocal skill now was at least more credible because of the sheer sincerity. The fondness that hovered in their eyes was not forced. Upon its closing, the managers merely managed to nod to one another dumbly.

"What's going on?' Erik said, now walking authoritatively into the room. "What's the porterboy doing on the stage? I thought you were rehearsing." Right away, he could tell that she had done something absolutely, irreparably irrational again.

"He's our new Passarino," Gabrielle said with a certain amount of finality. "I couldn't work with Carlotta, so we needed to make a few changes."

"And you made this decision by _what _authority, pray tell?" Erik asked, crossing his arms and looking at Gabrielle crossly.

"None," Gabrielle said logically, "But I assumed that it would have been the same decision as you would have made. After all, Carlotta didn't seem to want the part at all—"

"This is a scandal!" Carlotta cried out shrilly, storming out to the center of the stage. "That's MY part! You can't just give it to some little _boy _who has probably never stood on a stage, other than to build the set—"

"If I remember correctly, Signora," Gabrielle interrupted, "You didn't even appreciate being cast in the role, in any case. You obviously don't care much for it, seeing as you seem to be meandering off while you're _supposed _to be acting."

"Enough!" Firmin hissed as though the two women were a pair of sisters caught in a particularly intense rivalry. "Signora, Gabrielle is correct in saying that you are not the best candidate for the role of Passarino—" Carlotta let out an exaggerated gasp, "But you, Mademoiselle Clairmont," Firmin continued, looking at the younger girl, "Could show a bit more decorum if you absolutely cannot keep such comments to yourself."

"Not my fault that I'm right," she muttered under her breath, When Carlotta glanced at her as though she had heard, Gabrielle averted her gaze to look at Erik, who stood in the doorway in the same fuming silence for the entire time. Innately, she begged him to agree with her.

"Well, I believe that no one _of importance_ contests Mademoiselle Clairmont's decision," he said, his head held in the air as he shot a glance toward a brightly reddening Carlotta., "Gabrielle is absolutely indispensable to this production, and as it is for her comfort, I believe the choice is clear." He gestured carelessly towards the stage. "Carlotta, hand your script to—" he gritted his teeth at this. "Monsieur Fouinard."

Furious, the woman threw her copy of the script onto the ground at Anton's feet and stormed out of the theatre, cursing loudly in Italian as she went.

'Well, that went rather well, didn't it?" Gabrielle said, breaking the silence. Upon hearing her, Erik looked at her with an annoyed glare that said, _We'll be discussing this later._ Then, with an ominous twirl of his cape, he walked out as well.

"I think that means you're in trouble…" Meg muttered. Gabrielle just nodded quietly.

* * *

_A/N's_

_Not going to reply to everyone on each update for a while, because I have to be putting everything up in a hurry. What with school and all._

_**JUST AN IMPORTANT QUESTION FOR REVIEWERS...**I've already finished writing out this story, and I was just wondering if any of my readers/reviewers would be interested in a sequel? Please tell me, so I know whether or not to consider it! Plzthnx!_

_**Diana-Lupin, **you're just like me! I've been very, VERY severely sidetracked from my HP obsession by the miracle that is PHANTOM._

_Cassie, (**KensDragonet**), I'm trying really hard! No more falling chandeliers! . pretty please?_

_XOXO_

_x333 vicky_


	13. Refusing Forcible Demands

_**Disclaimer: **If I owned anything worthwhile, I would flaunt it. I don't flaunt, therefore---I don't own. _

* * *

"Why did you volunteer me for this?" Anton asked Gabrielle as they were walking out of the theatre after the rehearsal had ended. Gabrielle turned around and shrugged.

"I just thought it would be helpful. It pays well," she said frankly. "After this, you can buy your school books already, and not have to worry about me bothering you anymore."

"Oh" Anton said. For the remainder of the walk back to their rooms, they walked in silence. Gabrielle was about to go back into her room when he called out her name. She turned around and walked a few steps, covering the distance that had been laid between them. "I just wanted to let you know, you don't bother me," he said fondly, brushing the backs of his fingertips against her cheek. "I'm actually glad to have you around,"

Gabrielle blushed brightly for a moment, then pulled her face away from his hand. He reached for her again, but she stepped backward, gently pushing his wrist away. "You're playing with fire, Monsieur." she said, going into her room. Anton stood in the hallway, staring at her door long after it was shut and locked.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle was surprised to see, at the moment she had entered her room, that she was not alone. Erik stared at her questioningly, having witnessed the entire exchange that had occurred between her and the young man. "It didn't mean anything," she said timidly.

"Perhaps I should not have been so quick to relinquish the role to him," Erik said icily. "Your duets with him may grow far too realistic. I can't have my pupil being distracted by such trivial things."

"It's only acting," Gabrielle said, her eyes growing more and more remorseful

"If anything happens, it's _his _hide." Erik pointed out. "You'd do well to remember that." Gabrielle nodded, then looked him in the face.

She had tried her best to keep her eyes transfixed upon his, but they willed themselves otherwise. She found her gaze wandering to the mask that covered nearly half of his face.

"Tempting, isn't it?" he asked, stepping closer to her and towering above her tiny figure. "No one's stopping you. You could pull it off, and you could scream, and run out into the arms of your precious Monsieur Fouinard. I don't doubt that he'll be more than happy to have you—"

"How long are you going to keep doing this?" Gabrielle interrupted, clenching her eyes shut for an instant and turning her face slightly away. "You're correct, I could do it. But I'm not going to."

"I'm telling you to, you insolent little wench!" he yelled, roughly grabbing her wrist and putting her hand to his face, forcing her to place her fingers along the edge of the mask, thinking she could not resist the urge to do it now.

But Gabrielle still didn't move, staring defiantly into his eyes and pulling her hand away. "Then do it yourself." she said darkly. Erik now stood completely still as well. "I thought so." Gabrielle said.

"Everyone else in this damn opera house has seen it." she said with a slight quaver in his voice. Why do you refuse? So you can hate this monster as much as anyone else—"

"I won't hate you," she said honestly.

"Then you'd pity me," he spat. "And I'd settle for it. In any case, you'd be the first."

"No." she said harshly. His words now seemed to have incited something in her. "Pity is for Idiots. Those who _pity _are idiots who are pompous enough to look at someone who's fallen upon hard times, and think that their lives are so much better." She panted, having conducted the entire tirade in a single breath. "I've been pitied for nearly my entire life. It's nothing to settle for. Being hated…it's better. At least you have respect."

"You mean fear." Erik said.

"There's no difference between them," Gabrielle said, sitting down on her daybed, glancing at her window. "Pity? Someone pats you on the head and throws you a couple of francs, thinking they've changed your life…" Erik looked at the young girl sadly, almost apologetically for a moment when she waved a hand in frustration. "Don't look at me that way, please," she said in tearless sobs. "I wasn't someone to be pitied, I just…I didn't flaunt what I had, that's all."

"At least you had your _dear Uncle Raoul_," he spat in disgust. She stared at him in confusion, her eyes narrowing slightly as though she was trying to understand. "Don't look so surprised, you know that I knew."

Gabrielle shook her head and looked away. "I…I met him _once_" She replied truthfully "I was seven years old, but I can remember it. He came to our house to tell our father that he was disinherited. My father…he lost everything that day."

"And what of your uncle?" Erik asked. "That man must have appeared a knight in shining armor to a girl of that age."

"I was sick when he came…" Gabrielle said distantly. "And I remember…he brought me a new dress." She paused and sighed with fluttering eyes, as though she was digging deeper and deeper into her mind. "I'm living on borrowed time." she said. "I was always sick, and I should have died My father would go mad every time I even coughed. He had money saved, just in case…He wasn't going to have his only child buried like a commoner." She paused, and looked as though she was overwhelmed, but took only a few moments before she was able to continue. Through all this, Erik stood in an enthralled and disbelieving silence. "Then, my mother died. That was when I was seven as well. Things got a bit better…Still, I hardly ever went outside, couldn't go out and play. I was an ugly, pale little thing. But after my father died…things have changed a bit, I guess. I've been all right since then."

"Then you're a miracle child," Erik said, standing in front of her now. He pulled her up, but she looked away from him. "A miracle, in exchange for your life,"

"A devil's bargain," she replied, disgusted now at herself. "My parents died in exchange for my life, whether I asked for it or not. I'm only here because _someone _needs to make up for the years that my parents never had the chance to live."

'You're wrong," Erik said, tilting her chin up with his gloved hand. It surprised him that she did not pull away from his cold touch. "Perhaps your mother and father _did _die to give you the chance to live. But that is because you are destined for _greatness._"

"Greatness," she scoffed. "I stole their lives. Nothing can justify that."

"You're trying to atone for a crime you did not commit." he said.

"As are you," she said, putting a hand up to his smooth, perfect, unmasked cheek. For a slow moment, he merely stared at her. Then, unsure of what to do, he pushed her harshly away and fled. He did not even notice that he had pushed her to the ground as he ran down through his labyrinth, back to that desolate place he had always called home, blinded by tears.

"_Christine_," he groaned in a pained voice as he returned to his lair. He felt as though he was dying, betraying the woman he had sworn would never be replaced. He knew that she would never love him, and did not expect her to, but he made that promise to love her and only her…

_You alone can make my song take flight_…

Erik collapsed to his knees on the ground, sobbing.

Meanwhile, Gabrielle lay in bed, and sang one line to herself as she drifted off to sleep.

_Why can't I make the music of the night…_

She drifted off to sleep with that, tears welled in her closed eyes.

Once again, she found herself quite awake, yet quite _not_. She found herself in a place full of snow, or clouds, or some other thing that she, in her sheltered life, had never seen before. hen, before her appeared a woman, familiar to her only in places like these, in dreams…

"Mother?" she said quietly, unsurely. The woman nodded.

"My little girl," she said, embracing Gabrielle. Gabrielle returned it almost stiffly. "Oh, how you've grown!" she put her hands on her daughter's face and stared at her. "When you were born, I thought you would look exactly like me. But you look exactly like your father." she paused and laughed at the pout on her daughter's face. "But that temper is most definitely mine," she laughed melodiously. "My darling, I'm proud of you. _So _proud."

Gabrielle took a deep breath and stared at the woman she had wanted to speak to so many times. "I've needed you so many other times, Mother." she said quietly. "Why here? Why now?"

"Oh, Gabrielle," she chided. "You may have thought you needed me, but those times, you were capable of winning on your own. But now…my darling, now you need to listen to your mother."

Tearfully, she stared up at her mother. She was so beautiful, and so perfect, everything that Gabrielle wasn't. "Sometimes, I think father was upset because I didn't look like you," she said quietly.

'And yet look how beautiful you are," she replied, kissing her daughter on the forehead.

"You're my mother, you're at least responsible for half of it," she laughed weakly.

'So how many men are in love with you," she asked.

"None," Gabrielle laughed. "I've never given anyone the chance to love me, really."

"You don't need to," her mother replied. "You've enraptured someone, I'm sure, but you don't know it yet. Someday, someone will help you realize how beautiful you are." She kissed her daughter on the forehead again, and then faded slowly away, leaving Gabrielle alone in the dreamworld of cloud and twilight.

* * *

**A/N's and Review Replies**

**ArwenKalina, **the love triangle isn't quite as..._triangular_, so to speak. Interpret that as you will, I don't want to give anything away.

**Cassie, **(_KensDragonet_), je ne peut pas oublier tes conseils. I'll try to update as quickly as I can, you have my word!

Also thanks to **An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin**, **Ophira Holmes, **and **Diana-Lupin** for reviewing as well!

Jusqu'a la fois prochaine...

xoxo  
victoria


	14. Farewell to Dreaming

**DISCLAIMER: **_Though it pains me to say this, nothing has changed as far as ownership is concerned_

* * *

Dreams are not an appropriate place for a young girl to waste her years. Gabrielle woke up from her dream of her mother with an odd sense of melancholy. As she got dressed, she decided that if she was to continue in the Opera Populaire, there were some things that she would have to do.

She walked slowly down the stairs into the foyer, where Madame Giry was beginning to gather her ballerinas for their first lesson of the day. The older woman looked up as Gabrielle approached.

"Tell Monsieur Erik that I've gone somewhere important." she said shortly. Then, she ran off outside before Giry had the opportunity to protest. The autumn air pleasantly stung her warmly flushed cheeks, and she took a moment to inhale the rare freshness and peace, sans the street's usually hustle.

At the other end of the quartier was a small chapel, where her parents were both buried. She stepped through the gate to the tiny cemetery, which only went as high as her waist. It was a humble place, and not too well tended to, but it was a sacred place nonetheless. How many children had come here and cried out for their mothers and father, staring at a slab of cold stone? How many brothers looked upon other brothers being lowered into the ground? How many lives had been swallowed up by the sanctified earth?

The last time she had come here was for her father's funeral, where he was buried next to her mother. In the middle of the service, as the priest was praying a blessing over her father's casket, Gabrielle let her attention drift towards the Opera Populaire, which stood in the distance, hardly lit and on the verge of decay. That sight had brought her to tears more than anything. More than the loss of her father, seeing the loss of their shared dream drove a stake through her already wounded heart.

She knelt down in between her mother's and father's flat tombstones, humble and dust-worn as they were, and placed a hand on each of them. "Mama, Papa,.." she said quietly. She half expected one of them to reply to her, but felt oddly relieved to have heard nothing. At least now, she didn't have to worry about their voices questioning her.

"I hope you're not disappointed in me," she said quietly. "I was supposed to be a doctor, or a writer. I was supposed to travel the world, and bring back stories of things you never had the chance to see. Instead, I've stayed here. I could have amounted to more than what I am, and I apologize for that." She paused, and breathed deeply. She could imagine them looking at her, staring at her and willing her to explain herself. Her body quivered slightly as she felt the tears begin welling up behind her eyes.

"But this is where my heart lies. This is where I stay. I belong here, even if it is just a tiny corner of Paris that the world may never know," she said in a choked voice. "I don't even know why, but _this _is where I want to be. Please, be happy for me…don't haunt me anymore." She clenched her eyes shut and stood up, staring down at the tombstones. She couldn't walk away yet, not without singing to her father one last time.

"_Wishing you were somehow here again, knowing we must say goodbye…_

_Try to forgive, teach me to live. Give me the strength to try…_

_No more memories, no more silent tears. No more gazing across the wasted years…"_

"You need to leave me now," she said quietly. "No more coming to me in dreams, and no more illusions. It's time for me to grow up."

"Help me say goodbye…" 

Before she lost the will to just lay down where she stood for the rest of her life, Gabrielle tore her gaze away and ran out through the rows of headstones, not looking back.

She paused after she had gotten a fair amount of distance between her and the chapel, panting heavily after she had run the entire way. She could feel her chest tightening and trying desperately to regain its breath. She steadied herself, regardless of the fact that she was beginning to shake horribly. The autumn air no longer seemed pleasant, but cold and painful. For a moment, she nearly felt as though she needed to sit down, at the risk of fainting.

Once she had returned her breathing to normal, she walked briskly back to the Opera Populaire. She could not bring herself to run anymore, as she still felt faint from her earlier spell. Perhaps the visit to her parents had accosted her too harshly.

She placed her hands upon the ornate double doors and pushed them open with both hands as she had always had to. She walked through the empty foyer and into the theatre, where Erik immediately leapt to her.

"You're _late_." he spat angrily. Gabrielle looked at him placidly and shrugged. At this disregarding gesture, anger immediately crept into Erik's eyes as he repeated himself. "_You are late_."

"I told Madame Giry I wouldn't be here on time," she said blankly. "It's hardly my fault if she neglected to tell you." Erik narrowed his eyes.

"I see," he growled. 'And where, may I ask, is our Passarino?"

"I don't know. Here, I suppose?" Gabrielle replied, looking up in confusion. But to Erik, he felt that his suspicions were confirmed as Anton, too, walked in late. Gabrielle looked at the younger man as though he had just sentenced her to death. She whirled back around and place her hand on Erik's forearm, "I wasn't with—"

"Get dressed." he spat vehemently, tearing his arm away and storming out, bringing Madame Giry with him. "It appears that our _stars _have taken their roles to hear," he said once they were out in the foyer. Giry looked at him, puzzled. 'Don't be a fool," Erik continued, brandishing a copy of the script and opening it to the appropriate page

Giry found the line to which he was referring and began reading aloud. "Don Juan finds Aminta and his man, Passarino…"

"Engaged in a passionate embrace," Erik recited, knowing the line from memory. "And in his rage and jealousy…"

"Kills them both..." Giry finished. "I assure you," she leased, "It means nothing!"

"We shall see," Erik said shortly. "We shall see." He turned back into the theatre, interrupting the dancers' practicing, just as Gabrielle returned. "Enough,. Now, we rehearse the final scene. Places!"

Immediately, Anton and Gabrielle took their places onstage. They stood behind a screen, moving as though they were kissing one another. Erik, costumed as Don Juan but still _feeling _as though he were himself, stormed onto the stage. He reached out and pulled Gabrielle away and threw her to the ground, just as they had rehearsed before, only now he had really thrown her. She gingerly supported her wrist, trying desperately to stay in character. Erik had made it as plain as day that he was angry, and a bad performance would do nothing but worsen his humor.

Curse You! You little lying Delilah! You little viper! 

Then, he whirled upon Anton and brandished the faux sword upon him. Erik took a macabre relish in pretending to kill the two, and the glint in his eye was reminiscent to the _old _Opera Ghost. Gabrielle was glad to get away right when rehearsal was over. She was trying to hurry and get to her room without being spoken to, but Anton insisted upon following her.

"Gabrielle!" he called out. "Gabrielle, come back!"

"I'm tired," she called back weakly. But he had already caught up to her before she could open her door. He stepped in the way and stared at her.

"I'll kill him for doing this," Anton said, gently grasping her hurt hand. "He can't do this to you. Why won't you just stop denying that you're in trouble and let me protect you? This has to stop, Gabrielle. That cruel monster…"

"It's acting," she said, attempting to laugh. "It's part of the rehearsal, seeing how far you can go for the sake of realism."

"Don't give me that," Anton said, shaking his head. "I worry about you. It's as if you're hiding something." He tried to meet her eyes, but she just looked away, shaking her head in fervent annoyance at this boy's persistence. His continual pushing was beginning to bother her.

"Don't dote upon me," Gabrielle insisted, reaching around him and opening her door. Then, before shutting the door in his face, she added, "It's not your place."

Immediately upon shutting the door and making sure Anton walked away, she turned around, not completely surprised by who she saw, but afraid nonetheless.

"I'm cruel, am I?" Erik roared, grabbing her by the wrists and pulling her to him. She winced and looked away, though he did not notice this. "Perhaps _now _you have an idea of what becomes of those who betray me!" Gabrielle merely bit her lip now, her eyes still clenched shut as he made the pain in her wrist grow worse and worse. "You will look at me when I am speaking to you!" he yelled, trying to pull her closer. Only now did the see the darkening flesh of her wrists, swollen and glowing red. Immediately, he released his hold and held them gingerly, staring at them. "Who did this?" he asked.

Gabrielle looked up at him unsurely. She dared not speak the truth for fear of how he would react to being accused. But the glazed and blank look in her eyes spoke enough for Erik to know. His rash treatment of her earlier had been intentional, true enough, but he had not _truly _meant to hurt her. He had only meant to _teach _her…

"Oh, Gabrielle…" he said quietly, an apologetic look in his eyes. Now, he barely realized why he had done this, as had always happened when he did such terrible things.

"You have my apologies, _master_," she said, pulling her hands away from his cold grasp, "As well as my word that I will not fail to attend a rehearsal again."

"You are excused tomorrow." He said, leaving quickly.

And he was true to his word. He allotted Gabrielle a seat in Box Five to watch from, supervised by Madame Giry. The two women sat and watched as Carlotta stepped in as Gabrielle's understudy.

The performance was actually tolerable, a fact that made Gabrielle uncomfortable and self-conscious, until it came time to perform 'Point of No Return'. The chemistry, if any was present at all, was fizzling out horribly. Gabrielle had expected Erik to remain the same in the role, and had expected to be jealous upon seeing Carlotta in his arms rather than her. But he merely held Carlotta's hand as she tried over-exuberantly to sing the song.

"This is…horrible…" Gabrielle muttered disdainfully.

"Because la Carlotta is not Aminta. _She _is unable to capture the emotion, or to evoke it in _him_." Giry replied, still looking straight at the stage. "Erik knows better than to bother with her."

"Either way, she looks pleased." Gabrielle noted.

"The part was withheld from her with good reason," Giry pointed out. "You will return to the stage tomorrow."

And so she would.

* * *

Eventually, the stigma of that single day of harsh words and actions had passed, and the rehearsals continued up until the night before the performance. After having finished that final dress rehearsal and making sure that the _composer _was long gone, the cast convened in the foyer.

"We've been practicing for over a month, and the show is finally over tomorrow!" Gabrielle said joyously. "Can you imagine what it's going to be like?"

"After all of our hard work," Carlotta said, pouring the girl a drink from a dark green bottle, "It's finally going to pay off."

Gabrielle smiled and unknowingly took a swig of the drink, but immediately upon swallowing it, she dropped her glass and placed her hand on her throat and began coughing, a look of pain and fear corroding her earlier joy. Carlotta faked a look of worry and shrieked.

"Oh no!" she yelled, "Dio! Dio! Oh, no, she must not be able to handle the absinthe!"

"Get out of the way, you stupid woman," Giry said, moving to stand next to Gabrielle, who now was trying to regain her breath, crouched on her knees.

"This is all _her _fault!" she hissed in a hoarse whisper, grasping her throat. "She's trying to kill me!"

"Nonsense!" Carlotta huffed, "You should have told me you couldn't handle the drink!"

"Enough," Giry said, "Gabrielle, save your voice, and Signora Guidicelli, save your breath. Gabrielle, you will be unable to sing. _This _is why we do not allow our singers to drink, because they cannot handle it. _Some _of our stars are of better upbringing than to perform while they are _inebriated._" She shot a pointed look towards Carlotta, who merely turned her nose up into the air. "Carlotta will be singing the role of Aminta tomorrow evening." She helped Gabrielle up and began walking her to her room.

"But Madame Giry, you can't let Carlotta sing _my _part!" she said, her voice now louder but no less hoarse. "I have to sing it! Don't let her, it's going to be horrible!" she pleaded, "Please, Madame—"

"Sit on the bed and rest," she said firmly. Gabrielle did as she was told, looking down at her feet as Madame Giry left the room. When the older woman had left, Gabrielle opened her mouth and tried to sing, only to find that a hoarse crackling sound was the best she could make. Tears started to form behind her eyes as Madame Giry came back into the room, holding a pot of tea. She poured Gabrielle a cup and looked at the younger girl sympathetically.

"Mint tea," she explained, handing her the cup gently. "Drink it, it will help."

Gabrielle nodded mutely and took the cup, drinking it slowly as Giry watched her. "Do you think…" she began. She shook her head and back down at her slippers.

"What is it, dear?' Giry asked.

"Do you think if I drink enough of it, I'll be able to sing by tomorrow?" she asked hopefully, but all hope was shattered by Giry's saddened expression. At that, Gabrielle immediately broke down in tears, tossing the cup aside, though luckily it landed on her pillow.

"There will be other performances," Giry said soothingly.

"But I wanted _this _one," Gabrielle choked out. "And Erik! Oh god, what is he going to say? He'll hurt me, I know he will, and it's all my fault—"

"You are not responsible for this," Giry said, running a hand over Gabrielle's hair. "But I do think that he will wish to speak to you. I must leave you." Gabrielle nodded, still sobbing inconsolably, and Giry left, closing the door behind her.

Gabrielle continued crying for nearly half an hour until she heard a sound, identifying that someone had entered the room by some way other than the door. She rubbed her eyes and sat up.

"Is it true, then?" Erik asked. Gabrielle merely looked away without answering, but this confirmed the rumors he had overheard more than anything/ "Very well," he said in a blank tone. "Tomorrow evening, the audience will settle for a mediocre opera…with that _talentless peacock _as the centerpiece. Lord knows they've done it before." He gave off a cold chuckle, with made Gabrielle smile weakly. He walked over to her and placed his gloved fingertips on her throat, which made her move backwards slightly. "Prima Donna, your song shall never fade…" he sang with a snide smirk which was, oddly enough, comforting.

"That thieving gamine," Gabrielle snapped in her hoarse voice, the sound of which made Erik flinch. "She'll get hers eventually." He nodded, and disappeared in his usual fashion, leaving the younger girl to sit and marinate in the thoughts that had now entered her head.

* * *

Raoul and Christine were riding in their personal carriage on the way to Paris, ready to see his niece in a real lead role, though the role itself slightly disturbed them. When she had first written to him, informing him of being cast in the same role that Christine had once played in _Don Juan Triumphant_, he had the mind to barge into the opera house and take her away. But now, they had other things on their mind besides the show.

"Oh, Raoul, wait until we tell her," Christine said happily, running a hand over her abdomen and smiling fondly. Her eyes were slightly glazed in amazement and glee.

"She'll be thrilled for us, of course," Raoul said with a smile of his own, placing his own hand over that of his wife. "Absolutely thrilled."

"Of course she will," Christine laughed, her eyes glazed in amazement. "She's going to have a cousin now." She looked up at her husband. Now finding that he was staring at her worriedly.

"They'll be obsessed with you," he said simply. "When you step foot inside the Opera Populaire again, they'll hound you with questions."

"I'll hardly mind," Christine smiled nostalgically. "I do believe that I rather miss the limelight."

* * *

_A/N's and Review Replies:_

_**Angeloftheoperahouse, **I was wondering when you were going to review again! Glad to have you back!_

_**Diana-Lupin, **well, the unmasking is inevitable, so it's coming eventually, but I hope my way is original, rather than the generic way that everyone else seems to do it._

_**Kk13, **sorry if you had the impression that Christine was dead. She's just living with Raoul now...and with child now, nonetheless. On her way back to the Opera House. Yikes, not a good forecast, is it?_

_**Ophira Holmes, **glad you like the way I'm telling the story. I really do try to keep it realistic, and I'm so happy you appreciate it._

_**An Anti-Sheep Cheese Muffin, **yup, and mother knows best. Of course, someone always comes along to complicate things, right?_

_Also, thanks to **KensDragonet **(whose reviews keep my ideas coming most of all!), **elvinscarf, **and **Marianne Brandon**_

_Next chapter...the performance of Don Juan, Gabrielle still having lost her voice, and our darling Erik lays eyes on Christine Daae once more._

_Also, still debating on whether or not my story warrants a sequel, once it's over. Trust me, even with the ending I have planned, there's room for one._


	15. Defeat is Never Final

**DISCLAIMER: **_I own Gabrielle and Anton, and the little details you see thrown in there! _

_Sorry for the delay on this one! Ugh, school is not going well! _

* * *

On the night of the performance, everyone had thought Gabrielle was inconsolable. She had locked her door, and not come out, not once. The previous night, it seemed that she had come out once, but only to go down to the kitchens without stopping to speak to anyone, then return immediately to her room. Madame Giry and Meg had both tried to get her to respond to their calls, or the their knocks upon her door, but to no avail. They had decided that it was best that she rested, and left her alone.

"She is too sickly, I told you!" Carlotta simpered proudly as one of the stagehands did her makeup. "_Zat _is why you should be glad _I _am here."

Most of the cast listened with sour expressions as Carlotta went on and on.

"She's being too loud," one of the dancers pointed out. "What if Gabrielle hears her?"

"If Gabrielle doesn't shut _Signora's _mouth, I'll do it for her," another dancer muttered. Some of her comrades snickered, while others remained silent.

"You should have known she wasn't good enough!" Carlotta said with a careless gesticulation as she was walking towards the entrance to the stage. "But no! No listens to la Carlotta, but why that is…that puzzles me!"

"Puzzles me too," one of the other dancers muttered sardonically.

"With that little brat out of the way," Carlotta began as she was walking off down the corridor, her voice fading into the distance, "This opera will be TEN TIMES better."

They had no idea that inside, Gabrielle had spent the entire day locked in her room, sitting in bed with a determined look on her face, obsessively drinking the mint tea. Indeed, she had nearly been unable to fit into her corset. But by seven o'clock in the evening, when everyone had left the opera dormitories in order to get to the theatre, Gabrielle emerged from her room, in full costume. She was not going to be left behind.

* * *

The theatre was completely full, save for Box Five. The theatergoers had found their seats just fine, and the Vicomte and Vicomtess were settled in a private box of their own. It seemed that the show would go on without a hitch. No one had yet noticed the absence of the young lady who was the show's advertised star.

The play began with the chorus, and Christine was enthralled by it, remembering her last performance, standing on that very same stage, among the very same props. Raoul held his wife's hand comfortingly. He knew how badly she missed the stage, and how often she dreamt of standing in the spotlight once again.

Both of them shared a look of confusion when they saw that Carlotta had stepped on the stage, dressed as Aminta, knowing full well that Gabrielle ought to have been standing in that very spot, but was nothing compared to the fearing expression that Christine had as Erik strode onto the stage and began singing. No one had told her that he'd be there, and she honestly did not expect it. Surely it was some trick of the eye…that solitary, disillusioned creature would never be so bold as to perform on stage, would he?

Then, Christine shuddered at the arrival of a new thought. _He has nothing left to lose_, she thought. And it was true, there was no reason to protect himself anymore, after _she_, of all people, had bared his face in all its deformity to the world. Only now did Christine realize how humiliated, how terrified, how naked he must have felt. She had stripped him of more than his mask that night. She had stripped him of his mystery, and now…thestigma of his presencehad ebbed. The masked faced both frightened and enthralled the opera-goers, if ever it would make an appearance. But now, revealing that he was in fact just another man, another piteous wretch of a man with a ruined face, there was no fascination in that. he was just another man...

Raoul now wrapped an arm around her protectively, and they both watched the stage intently. Eventually, though the situation remained awkward, Christine relaxed. Now, by the time Carlotta had to sing, that shrill Italian falsetto pierced the surreal nature of the moment, the questions arose once more.

_You have brought me to that moment where words run dry_

_To that moment when speech disappears into silence…silence…_

"Wasn't Gabrielle supposed to be singing this part?" Christine asked quietly. Raoul nodded, staring at the stage as if he were trying to make sure he was seeing correctly.

"I thought so, at least…" he replied. "If anything had changed, Gabrielle would have told us before the show…"

_I have come here, hardly knowing the reason why_

_In my mind I've already imagined our bodies entwining, defenseless and silent_

Erik cringed slightly at this. _This _was not the way his opera was meant to be performed, and this was most definitely not his music. He felt suddenly indifferent, as if there was no reason to try and revive this emotionless performance. It was killed anyway, as it had been the moment that Gabrielle was unable to sing. Carlotta was of no interest to him, even as she sang. She was nothing.

_Now I am here with you, no second thoughts._

_I've decided…decided…_

_Past the point of no return_

_No going back now_

_Our passion play has now at last begun…_

Carlotta opened her mouth to sing the next line, but an unseen hand yanked her swiftly off of the stage, not caring that she was nearly thrown off of the scaffold. Even the audience ignored the muffled yelp the disgruntled diva gave. In almost the blink of an eye, Carlotta had disappeared, and a more petite girl was now standing in her place, wearing a new blood red peasant ensemble, a flower almost ineffectively pulling back her tamed mass of brown hair.

"Gabrielle…" Erik mouthed. She merely gave a quick grin before continuing the part that she had been so determined to perform.

_Past all though of right or wrong_

_One final question:_

_How long should we two wait before we're one?_

Gabrielle's voice rang true from her lips, not hoarse or broken, but somehow sounding more sensual and desirous. She placed her hand on Erik's chest and looked straight into his eyes from behind his mask, and the spark had been lit once again.

"That's Gabrielle, I know it is," Raoul muttered, rising slightly from his seat to see the stage more clearly, hardly believing that his own niece was there, in the very same position as his wife had been in years before.

_When will the blood begin to race, the sleeping bud burst into bloom_

_When will the flames at last consume us?_

Erik wrapped his arms around Gabrielle and began to caress neck her sensually, as he had once done to Christine, as he began to sing with her, their voices melting together just as fluidly as their bodies.

_Past the point of no return_

_The final threshold _

_The bridge is crossed, so stand and watch it burn_

_We've passed the point of no return…_

Erik released Gabrielle from his hold and turned her to face him, and was suddenly caught off guard by the expression of fascination and rapture on her face.

_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you want me with you, here, beside you_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too…_

At this, Christine let out an almost inaudible gasp, filled with nostalgia…and inexplicable jealousy. Erik looked up, and met the gaze of the woman he had once sung these very same words to, and looked straight at her as he sang the next line…

_That's all I ask of you!_

Gabrielle had no time to think. She could only feel jealousy of her own, seeing where Erik's gaze was directed instead of her. She placed her hand on his cheek and turned his face gently back to hers

_Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime_

_Say the word and I will follow you_

It seemed that the sensation of her warm hand on his cheek shook Erik slightly from his reverie. He saw the emotion in her eyes and relished in it, though he knew that it was merely an act for the stage. For the moment, this impression of love was his to keep.

_Share each day with me, each night, each morning_

_Say you love me…_

"_You know I do…_" Erik replied. It surprised him that Gabrielle broke slightly out of character as a smile washed brightly on her face.

_Love me, that's all I ask of you…_

Throwing caution to the wind without cause, Erik defied his own directions on the script. He placed both hands on Gabrielle's face and kissed her passionately as her hands wound around his neck. The audience erupted into cheers as the curtain fell on the first act.

The kiss continued until a stagehand called out that they had to move, so that the props could be changed. Immediately, the two leapt apart and descended the prop staircase. Gabrielle was flushed and breathless, and she bit her lip shyly.

Fortunately, they were saved from having to speak for now as Meg ran up to Gabrielle.

"Oh, you're fine!" she said in relief, "We thought something had happened to you, but it was nothing!"

"I couldn't let Signora Carlotta steal my limelight," Gabrielle laughed, her voice now completely normal again. "Was I all right?"

"It was perfect! Didn't you hear them cheering?" Meg pointed out

Gabrielle glanced at Erik, then back to Meg. "I hardly thought they were cheering for me."

The rest of Don Juan Triumphant went as cleanly and melodically as the first act, and the after party dropped Gabrielle right into the limelight, just as she had desired. Carlotta, it seemed, would have to settle for second fiddle, so to speak.

"Gabrielle!" Raoul said warmly, embracing his niece and stealing her attention away from some other person who had been speaking to her. "You were wonderful, Gabrielle…but I never should have brought you here. I need to take you home with us tonight—"

"Nothing's wrong," she said calmly, "I'm an actress. Onstage, you lie for a living, and then things go back to normal. I'm fine, I promise."

Raoul studied his niece's expression for a moment, then nodded. "I have some good news," he said with a smile, gesturing for Christine to come over. Gabrielle stared at them astutely, especially the way Christine held her hand over her stomach. They said nothing, and it took only a moment for Gabrielle to realize the news.

"You're going to have a child!" she squealed, hugging Christine warmly, "Oh, lord, You must be so happy!" she pulled back, and looked at her uncle. "_Both _of you."

"If it's a boy, we'll name him Dimitri, after your father," Christine smiled.

"Thank you," Gabrielle said sincerely. "Well, I should be going. Enjoy yourselves!" she said, kissing each of them on the cheek and scurried off, immediately being swallowed up into the crowd. She began to move through the crowd of patrons, graciously accepting gifts and compliments, and doing her best to engage in pleasant conversation.

Eventually, the people began to leave, and all that remained were the cast and dancers. As they began flocking back to the dormitories, Anton walked up to Gabrielle and placed an arm around her shoulders.

"You were amazing," he said, "I think this may have been your best performance."

"Because I wanted it more," she replied. She felt him pulling her closer, close enough that she was all but pressed to him, and made a clean break, stepping away and opening the door to her room. "A little discretion, Anton," she said chidingly. Then, she stepped inside and closed the door behind her.

"I believe Giry and I both gave you specific directions to rest today." Erik said, once she had safely locked the door. She turned around calmly and faced him, taking a deep breath.

"So you did," Gabrielle shrugged, "But I've worked too hard. Whether they wanted Carlotta or not, this was my part."

"Needless to say, you saved the opera," Erik said. "It would have been less than satisfactory if you had let Carlotta have her way with it." He nodded at her, but once again, it seemed that his eyes were fixed on a spot somewhere over her shoulder.

"You're hurt," she said compassionately. "You're hurt, because of my uncle…and his wife."

"She was my first love…My _only _love," he said weakly. Gabrielle swallowed hard and nodded.

"Perhaps I'm too young to understand any of this," she said dismissively. "This thing you call love, I don't know."

Unable to respond or explain, Erik left. Gabrielle merely shook her head and undressed, sitting down on her bed.

Meanwhile, the Opera managers found a letter on their desks. Firmin opened the dreaded red seal and began reading it out loud.

_Messieurs,_

_Our gala for Don Juan triumphant was delightful, n'est-ce pas? A pleasant end to a trying endeavour, to say the least. Your opera house, it seems, has finally received the rejuvenation you have worked for, all thanks to Mademoiselle Clairmont. In return for her most gracious efforts, it is therefore my will that you make haste in being rid of the one thing which can distract her from the progress of her career. Have Monsieur Fouinard removed from the Opera Populaire and restrict all contact he may have with Mlle. Clairmont, or I shall be rid of him in a far less ceremonious fashion._

_-O.G._

And the Opera Ghost would need to have his way, would he not?

* * *

**_Review Replies_**

_General consensus seems to be that Carlotta is a real pain, n'est-ce pas? Haha, well, Gabrielle's gonna give her a piece of her mind eventually. Worry not!_

_**A.M.T., **yes, I worried about the OOC-ness of Erik appearing in his own Opera, but it sorta has to do with the theme of the story...I'd clarify more, but I'm scared it might ruin parts of the ending! Just hold on!_

_**Samie Ling, **you just might get your wish about Carlotta eventually._

_**Kk13, **Carlotta seems like the type to drink a lot, doesn't she? I always got that impression of her, haha._

_**Diana-Lupin, **Yep, Anton makes out to be semi-Raoul-like, and Raoul...well, he's going to start becoming more of an antagonist, believe it or not. _

_**EVERYONE ELSE! **Keep reviewing, I'm taking all your reviews REALLY seriously._

_Oh yeah, and maybe it's a bad idea...but I still have an idea for a sequel...what do you guys think?_


	16. Do Not Shun Me

_**Disclaimer: **Just to refresh your memory, the only thing I own is Gabrielle...oh, and Anton, whenever he decides to pop up again._

_Aren't you all happy? I come bearing updates!_

* * *

Gabrielle could not force herself to sleep now, the way she had so many times before when she had first come to the Opera House. She lay in bed, hair tousled from tossing and turning. It wasalready nearly three o'clock, and she hadn't shut her eyes once. She couldn't tolerate being this idle. Instead, she got up, throwing off her luxurious silk covers, and scurried away, going back to the theatre. She tiptoed swiftly through the hallways and found herself back on the stage. 

The night had been magic. It had been something beyond all description, imagination, or expectation. She glanced around and sighed. As magical as it had been, none of it had been real in any way. She had seen the way Erik looked at Christine from the stage, and felt an odd sense of disappointment. She had no right to expect him to keep his wise eyes upon her when his true love was such a distance away.

Suddenly, from somewhere above her, a familiar, ethereal voice echoed through the theatre.

_I am your angel… Come to me, Angel of Music…_

She looked upwards and jumped backwards as a figure jumped down from the rafters of the catwalk, landing silently on his feet next to her.

"Erik, what—" she began, but he silenced her with a motion of his hand. His gloved hand reached out and gently shut her eyelids. He stepped behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. The sound of his melodic voice immediately did away with any desire to resist.

_Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation_

_Darkness stirs and wakes imagination_

_Silently the senses abandon their defenses…_

Gabrielle felt her shoulders relax under his touch as he sang into her ear, her lips parted in pleasure and surprise. He lowered one hand to wrap around her waist, the other caressing her cheek.

_Slowly, gently, night unfurls its splendour_

_Grasp it, sense it, tremulous and tender_

_Turn your face away from the garish light of day_

_Turn your thoughts away from cold, unfeeling light_

_And listen to the music of the night_

The hand around her waist now held one of her hands in a firm grip, caressing the back of it with his thumb. She felt her body began to feel as though it were on fire, and numb at the same time, aching with curiosity as to what this meeting meant. It could not be love, not as long as this was real, nor as long as she was awake. But it was something tangible, and so undeniably intense, Gabrielle continued to wonder.

_Close your eyes and surrender to your darkest dreams_

_Purge your thoughts of the life you knew before_

_Close your eyes, feel your spirit start to soar…_

Gabrielle's breath caught in her throat as he lowered his lips to sing in her ear. Her spine stood straight as the entirety of her body began to tingle and pulsate with sensational bewilderment. She pushed aside the questions she had asked herself only moments earlier.

_And you'll live as you've never lived before…_

He turned her around to face him, and she opened her eyes. For once, their eyes met and neither of them held anger or resentment. She merely saw into those ominous orbs and saw a soul…a soul that had been there all along, but had hidden itself behind more than one mask.

_Floating, falling, sweet intoxication_

_Touch me, trust me, savour each sensation_

_Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in_

_To the power of the music that I write_

_The power of the music of the night…_

He lowered his face to hers and kissed her with a fervor that frankly scared the young girl. It was her first instinct to pull away, but she fought back the idea, and eventually found a strange sense of comfort.

It was not necessarily a kiss of love, Gabrielle rationalized, even as this long, passionate kiss was still happening. As the kisses continued, she saw more and more that the type of caring he had for her, as much as she hated to admit, was like the type of feeling a man had for a mistress. They shared something that came so painfully close to love now that it could be easily mistaken for it, but there would always, _always _be someone that he would rather have, and that was Christine. _Christine, _who came first in everything. _Christine, _who had sent Gabrielle there, a poor orphaned, disowned urchin…and _Christine_, who possessed the only thing that Gabrielle desired so strongly.

Both of them broke away from their powerful embrace and looked away from one another in the type of shyness that one is often overcome by after sharing so meaningful and powerful an experience.

"They'll be missing you," Erik said.

"No they won't," Gabrielle laughed weakly. "I doubt they ever do." She nodded, and began walking away.

"You will not tell anyone of this meeting," Erik said seriously. Gabrielle froze in her tracks. "Not yet," Erik added. It slightly disheartened him when she hesitated to reply.

Gabrielle only turned her head over her shoulder. "For one who is so hurt by being denied, you're rather quick to deny me," she observed. Then, she walked away.

She felt sad and disappointed, but was unable or unwilling to cry. She was starting to go back to her room when she noticed that the door next to hers was open. She peered inside. "Anton?" she said. Only, she found that the room was completely empty. She turned around, and luckily for her, Madame Giry was passing by. "Madame, what's going on? Anton's room is empty."

"He's been let go," Madame Giry said simply. "He left immediately."

"I didn't get to say goodbye," Gabrielle said in confusion. Her eyebrows furrowed slightly as she glanced back into the empty room. _Surely he would have said something if he had been planning on leaving…_

"Erik said to have him removed immediately," Giry said honestly. "We were only following his directions."

"Well, do you know where he is?" Gabrielle asked, starting to grow slightly upset that Erik had ordered this and she hadn't even had the slightest clue. Whether or not she felt awkward around Anton, she certainly didn't once ever wish that he weren't there. "He _is _my friend, and I'd appreciate knowing where he's been taken."

"Somewhere safe, I assure you," Madame Giry said. "We didn't harm him."

"All right," Gabrielle sighed. Then, she spotted a figure walking down the hall. "Excuse me, Madame," she said shortly. She hurried up to the person down the hallway, then stood in their way. "Good morning, Signora Guidicelli," she said with a cattish grin. She'd already had a horrible day by now, and that hellish woman surely had something coming…"May I ask, what do you plan to do, besides trying to poison me?"

"I'm doing what's best for ze opera!" she screeched. "You'll run it into ze ground if they continue to have you here. You don't have the talent, or the voice."

Gabrielle laughed, shaking her head. "Do you believe that your opinion holds any merit for me, Signora, after you've only just tried to sabotage me?" She smirked calmly, an expression that no one had ever seen on the young girl's face. "_Don't have the talent_. Frankly, if your voice is the measure of _talent, _then it isn't too important."

"Insolent brat!" the diva screeched, slapping Gabrielle across the face. The younger lady's entire face flew to the side with a sickening smack, a handprint already evident on her porcelain-pale skin. "You horrible little—"

"Wench!" Gabrielle cried out angrily, sparing no effort and hitting the older woman across the face. Immediately, the two began to claw at one another uncontrollably as Carlotta made attempts to rip out Gabrielle's hair.

Suddenly, the two were being pulled apart, and Meg had Gabrielle restrained as best as she could manage while Madame Giry pulled Carlotta back to her feet.

Immediately, Meg started bringing Gabrielle to a more secluded spot, cornering her friend in an alcove far away from Carlotta. "Gabrielle, you're acting so…_strange_," Meg said in an exasperated tone. "You're not acting like yourself…why are you avoiding me?"

"Oh, Meg," she said remorsefully. "I can't talk here…Come with me!" She now held her friend by the wrist, and they ran to her room to talk. Gabrielle did not consider the fact that they could be eavesdropped upon within these walls as well…

"What's going on?" Meg asked. "Is something wrong?"

"Everything's gone too far," Gabrielle said in a quiet, frantic voice. "I don't have any control over anything that happens here, Meg. It's insane…"

"Is it the Opera Ghost?" Meg whispered. Gabrielle looked up with a slight fury in her eyes.

"His name isn't _Opera Ghost_," she said defensively. "His name is _Erik_…and he's…he's my ghost, now. He belongs to me."

"You've gone mad," Meg said in confusion. "He's a monster, Gabrielle. You can't possibly care about him."

"I know he's just using me," Gabrielle said, staring off into the distance. "I know…I know I'll never have the place Christine did with him. I know that. Once I've outgrown my novelty as his fawning, doe-eyed protégée, he'll be through with me." She paused and shook her head. Meg looked at her sympathetically. "But I can't make this stop, even if I did try…Meg, I can't…"

"Gabrielle," she said, placing a hand upon her friend's. Her palm was cold, just as Christine's had been before, and her face just as pale.

"He won't even acknowledge me," Gabrielle laughed bitterly. "We're to keep our meetings a secret still. It proves even more that what I'm doing is wrong."

"You poor dear," Meg said piteously, "You deserve better."

"Don't you understand?" Gabrielle said, pulling away and looking quite upset. "If he would just—" she cut herself off and shook her head fervently. "Never mind. It's futile, all of it! Filling my head with things that will never be real…"

They had gone into Gabrielle's room for secrecy and discretion, but Gabrielle's words were heard by one more set of ears. Erik felt a twinge of guilt. Dear God, how vividly he recalled being denied by Christine, and how it had pained him to hear her speak so little of what they had shared…

No one deserved to experience such betrayal, he decided, most especially not anyone who had shown him the closest thing he had known to compassion.

* * *

**_A/N's and Review Replies_**

_**Faust, **I've always thought Don Juan Triumphant would have a very dramatic ending, especially with Eik being the playwright. I wanted to elaborate on the play a little more, but I guess that can wait until a later time._

_**NNC**, Suffice it to say that romance will still be rough on Erik this time around, but I think this will turn out better._

_**Marianne Brandon, **Erik is still just lovestruck by Christine, but don't worry. I think he's starting to warm up to Gabrielle. _

_**Kk13,** the Anton/Erik conflict will definitely be a stumbling block, but you're right about one thing: Anton is a nice guy (for the most part)_

_**Ophira Holmes, **Gabrielle's just getting started. Carlotta will get hers eventually. You can't be that bitchy (excuse the language!) without having karma bite you in the behind._

_Summer vacation is almost here! I'm almost done being a sophomore! Woo hoo! And summer vacation means...about 20 essays for my AP classes, of course, but also more updates! Keep me motivated and keep the reviews coming! _


	17. Silent Understanding

DISCLAIMER – I own Gabrielle & Anton. Yup. Been months since I've updated, but nothing's changed.

I 'm so sorry for the delay! I've just had a rough summer. Verrrrry rough summer. But I'm back, bad, and ready to update more!

I am, however, going to refrain from replying to reviews for the next couple chapters, because I want to concentrate on actually putting them up.

* * *

Gabrielle woke up the next morning, her eyes still heavy and hooded. She had exerted herself terribly the previous night, forcing herself to sing, but it had been worth it. She rolled her shoulders and sat up gracefully. Only after she had run her fingers through her hair a few times did she notice a folded piece of paper in her lap, marked with a familiar red seal. She picked it up gingerly, her expression turning puzzled, and broke the seal barrier.

_Chère Gabrielle,_

_I believe that you are very mistaken about the circumstances of our arrangement, but you will understand in time. For the moment, I would advise you to take a short stroll to the theatre foyer. Perhaps a bit of sunlight will clear your mind, ma petite. And perhaps what you find there will be acknowledgement enough for you._

_Sincerely…_

Gabrielle smiled discretely as she noticed that he had crossed out his usual signature of "O.G." and written "Erik" instead. Then, she jumped nimbly out of bed, threw a robe over her dressing gown and walked nervously about her chamber, looking for her slippers, which she found in a corner. Excitedly, she practically scurried away, scampering through the hallways like a dormouse until she found herself in the theatre foyer, where a crowd had already gathered. Still unnoticed, she tried to peer over their heads at what they were looking at, but to no avail. She rolled her eyes began to nudge her way through the crowd.

She jumped backwards slightly at what she saw – a large portrait, scaling the entire height of the wall, of her and Erik performing from the previous night. Written in small embossed ink in the corner, almost hidden by the ornate gold frame, were the letters "O.G."

Gabrielle turned around and faced everyone who had been looking, and, for possibly the first time ever, had nothing at all to say. Meg hurried up to her, grabbed her by the arm, and brought her into another room.

"What is all of this?" Meg asked in conspiratorial whisper, shaking Gabrielle's arm slightly.

"It's…" Gabrielle's expression was glazed and vague, her face still slightly turned back toward the foyer, "…amazing."

"What's going on?" Meg said in a more urgent tone, fervently jerking Gabrielle's arm, which seemed to bring the smaller girl's attention back to the present. Gabrielle studied Meg's face and shrugged, but Meg wouldn't accept being brushed off. "It's _him, _isn't it?" she said, shaking her head questioningly, "Then is this what you want?"

"Of course, I…" Gabrielle hesitated, just as Madame Giry came into the corridor as well. She looked at Gabrielle with that stern yet almost motherly expression that always perplexed her, then motioned for Meg to leave. The light-haired girl, being uncomfortable as it was, quickly obliged.

"Do _nothing_," Madame Giry began. "Do nothing until you've made an absolute decision. He does not take kindly to being toyed with."

"Is there really a decision to make?" Gabrielle asked, somewhat warily. "This is in Erik's hands now, not mine. Or have you forgotten who controls this entire opera house?"

"You can still get away," Giry said quietly, "if you run before this goes any further and never come back to this place again."

"Nothing good will come of running away," Gabrielle said knowingly, shaking her head. "Nothing good comes of running from things we don't understand."

"You're the only one who may _ever _understand that man," Giry said, "If anyone has the right to run—"

"My rights?" Gabrielle asked, her brow furrowing as though the older woman had just introduced an extremely foreign concept. "Madame, I'm tired of being doted upon and being considered a victim when it was my own hand that put me in this position in the first place. What of respect? Is that not a right as well? To everyone?"

Madame Giry took a step back and looked at Gabrielle appraisingly. "There's something more." She said cryptically. A flash of panic rose in Gabrielle's eyes and fell just as swiftly as it came, but it was all the confirmation that Giry needed. "You feel more for Erik than pity or remorse. And you feel more for him than respect."

Gabrielle flinched uncomfortably but composed herself quickly and answered, "I only wish that he would receive the fulfillment in his life that my father was deprived of."

"So," Giry nodded, "You deny that you're in love with him, then?"

"Madame," she said sternly, "You cannot love someone whom you do not even know." Gabrielle nodded her head gracefully and left to go back to her room, where Meg was sitting on her bed waiting.

"Gabrielle!" she said, her attitude now strangely contrasting what it had been earlier, "Do you realize how incredibly romantic that was?"

"Yes, it was thoughtful," Gabrielle replied uncomfortably. Meg gave a quiet, scoffing "harrumph" at Gabrielle's response.

"It means more to you than you're letting on," she observed. Gabrielle turned to face her friend, who eyed her quite shrewdly.

"Oh, Meg," she said quietly, shutting her door so no one could hear. "It means the world to me, all right?"

"I knew it did," Meg said with a slight smile. "Are you really sure you know what you're doing?"

"Know what I'm doing? Oh, heavens, no," Gabrielle said, shaking her head. "But for once, I don't mind. I'll face whatever comes my way…if I can."

* * *

Meanwhile, Anton was bent on seeing the Vicomte De Chagny, and was riding his old horse to within an inch of its life, making his way to the De Chagny home in the countryside. He found himself at the front gate, and was extremely relieved until a sentry stepped in front of him and told him he could not enter.

"No visitors," the tall uniformed man said. "Madame la Vicomtesse is resting and cannot be disturbed."

"I need to see the Vicomte!" Anton yelled feverishly, gritting his teeth.

"Your name?" The sentry asked though it was quite plain that he was merely trying to humor the man before turning him away once again.

"My name is Anton and I need to speak to the Vicomte, it's urgent!" he said loudly. He looked up at the very moment when Raoul happened to peer out of the window to see what the commotion was. Anton began to wave fervently. "Monseiur De Chagny, listen to me! It's Gabrielle—"

Raoul threw open the window and motioned for the guard to let the man pass. "Gabrielle?" he asked.

"They sent me away from the Opera House because I was standing in _his _way from getting to her—"

"Come inside. Tell me everything." Raoul said. The two men met inside the main hallway of the De Chagny mansion, were Anton took a deep breath before continuing his story.

"I'm in love with her," Anton said.

Raoul stared at him haughtily. "That's all well and good, boy, but unless you have anything tangible—"

"Don't you see it?" Anton retorted. "He has her wrapped up in lies! He's trying to seduce her. I tried to protect her, but he ordered me sent away."

The two men looked at each other in the eye, and suddenly reached a silent understanding. Something had to be done.


End file.
